Song of Death
by Ancalime Erendis
Summary: AU paralleling the end of GoF and following. A visitor with knowledge of the future comes to Hogwarts in hopes of bringing about a happier ending for Snape, Draco, and Slytherin House. CAUTION: Not for fainthearted Dumbledore fans.
1. The Watcher

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Just over six years ago, I was dragged to the theater by my college roommates to see a movie about which I knew only two things—it was based on some British kids' fantasy book, and Alan Rickman was in it (which is the main reason I actually went without a fight). That movie had such an impact on me that I spent my Christmas break reading all of the Harry Potter books then out, and I returned to school with the beginnings of what was to become a life-dominating fanfic in mind. I have since posted about half of a very long trilogy, which is what that story somehow developed into, and I might well have posted more except that the ugly inevitable took place: canon intervened, stranding my characters halfway through Harry's sixth year and leaving my mad writing collaborator and me wondering, if we bothered to finish the story, would anyone bother to read it?

Even more to the point, we had little time to finish said story because we found ourselves engaged in a tooth-and-nail defense of our hero and icon, Professor Severus Snape—all the while quietly biting our nails and hoping that a certain British writer didn't blow it big-time. We lulled ourselves into the false hope that, once the seventh book came out, the debate would be over one way or another and all would be well. Ironically, it was after the release of Book Seven that things actually got nasty. My collaborator and I are both dyed-in-the-wool Slytherins, but even our Gryffindor friends were outraged at the writer's shameful treatment of Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, and Slytherin House as a whole.

I know I am hardly the first person on this site to write a fanfic that could be classified as either a "Book Seven Didn't Happen Because I Said So and Here's Why" or a "Book Seven Did Happen but on **My** Terms, Dammit!" story, but I do hope that it will contribute to, rather than take away from, present thoughtful reflections on the canonical installment in question.

One other thing: Some of the characters, including the main, in this story have come from my "Contented Wi' Little" stories, but I have tried to write this in such a way that you won't have to read those unless you actually want to; they should hopefully explain themselves as they go along.

Disclaimers: (because I like to have them over and done with once at the beginning) If you recognize characters, concepts, and terminology from the published Harry Potter books, they are the intellectual and marketable property of J.K. Rowling, whether I or anyone else likes it or not. All others are mine, with the exceptions of Zarekael Sel Dar Jerrikhan and The Watchers, who are the creations of my mad fanfic-spinning collaborator Snarky Sneak. All poetry and lyrics, unless otherwise credited in author's notes attached to the pertinent chapters, were written by Robert Burns. Any translations of Burns' work which appear were done by yours truly (so yes, if I screwed up a translation, you can let me know, but please be polite about it; I tend to become Snape-ish when responding to flames).

**Song of Death**** by Robert Burns  
**Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,  
Now gay with the broad setting sun!  
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties,—  
Our race of existence is run!

Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,  
Go, frighten the coward and slave!  
Go, teach them to tremble, fell Tyrant, but know,  
No terrors hast thou for the brave!

Thou strik'st the dull peasant—he sinks in the dark,  
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name:  
Thou strik'st the young hero—a glorious mark!  
He falls in the blaze of his fame!

In the field of proud honour—our swords in our hands,  
Our King and our Country to save—  
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,  
O! Who would not die with the brave!

**Prologue  
**They stood as if frozen—Voldemort, his back straight and proud; Harry, with wand leveled and eyes flashing; Severus and Zarekael, masked and cloaked in Impalers' robes that swirled about them; and Meli, knowing what must come but having no idea how to prepare for it. Only the rain moved, pouring down in torrents over them with an angry roar.

The spell flew in an explosion of green light. Voldemort, to his credit, faced his inescapable death with his eyes open, and he even drew himself up straighter to accept it at last. The bolt struck him… there was a last flash of red in his eyes…

And Meli's world dissolved into excruciating agony, like nothing she had ever experienced. Even the defeat at Godric Hollow was nothing to this; everything was swallowed up in the pain and the screams. She fell and curled up, writhed and roiled, coughed up blood as her throat screamed itself raw, and begged anyone who would hear her for death.

She never could say afterward how long it went on or when oblivion finally took her; she only knew that when waking came… something was horribly wrong.

ooo

It was just past nine o'clock in the evening on 24 May, and the only noteworthy thing that ought to be taking place was Ludo Bagman notifying the four champions of the maze that would be their final task in a month's time. Within the halls of Hogwarts, all was more or less quiet, and the hospital wing was silent as the grave, its only occupant Madam Pomfrey.

The mediwitch had stayed a little late to finish inventorying her various medicines and compiling a short list for the potions master to brew over the next fortnight. It was a routine, mindless task, just boring enough to tire her, and her only thought as she rolled up her list was that she might go to bed early that night.

That off-hand thought was abruptly forgotten when a roiling, agonized scream shattered the silence. Madame Pomfrey dropped the parchment and scrambled to her feet to dash into the main ward. It was a scream unlike anything she had ever heard, but the utter agony of it made her think that someone must be dying horribly.

The sound had faded as she came out of her office, but she could clearly see a black-clad figure crumpled on the floor in the center of the ward. She ran to it without hesitation and checked it magically for damage before touching it. The readings she received made no sense whatsoever, but they did at least assure her that the person was still alive and could be moved.

Madame Pomfrey gingerly reached out to roll the figure from its side to its back. It proved to be a young woman, probably no older than thirty, with tangled black hair and a deathly pale face. Her lips were almost white, and spotted with blood; she whimpered when the mediwitch touched her, but she was definitely unconscious. She wore what Madame Pomfrey recognized as Muggle clothes, all black, with black witch's robes over them, she held a black wand in her left hand… and the mediwitch knew for a fact that she had never seen this woman before.

"Oh, dear." The woman's arrival made no sense whatsoever, but she was obviously in bad shape and required immediate attention. Then, too, there was Dumbledore to notify, and he would probably want certain measures put into place….

"Well, my dear, I suppose I won't be going to bed early tonight after all," Madame Pomfrey said dryly then stepped back to levitate her visitor to a bed.

**Chapter 1: The Watcher**  
When Meli Ebony opened her eyes, she knew immediately that the place in which she stood was not the real, waking world. After the seizure she'd just had, she should have been lying on a bed, hyped up on six different pain potions and still hurting badly; instead, she stood in a perfectly blank gray room with no trace of pain and no company except a very confused-looking man.

"You're early," he said, "and not the one I was told to expect." He furrowed his brow in concern. "Has the other champion died, then?"

Meli stared at him in bewilderment that faded quickly into irritation. "What are you talking about?" she asked shortly. "And as long as you're explaining that much, you may as well go the rest of the way and tell me who the hell you are, what this place is, and why I'm here." She leveled her teacher's eye at him. "I may be dead, but I'm bloody well sure that this is neither Heaven nor Hell."

The man looked startled. "Something has gone very wrong," he muttered, his eyes flicking around as if in search of an explanation. They finally came in for a landing on Meli's face. "Well, there's no undoing it now, so I suppose I had better tell you."

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. There was something ominous in those words, no matter how flustered the speaker might be. "I supposed you'd better."

He sighed and ran a distracted hand through his hair. "I'm called Avallach," he said. "The name of my people is unimportant; we're most commonly called The Watchers.

"Millennia ago, our ancestors constructed a network of gateways between dimensional worlds—what you might call alternate universes. Their primary interest was in observing how history moved and people changed within those worlds." His eyes flashed as he emphasized his next point. "To _observe_, you understand, and never to interfere."

"Naturally," Meli said coldly. There was an odd familiarity to some of what he was saying, but she couldn't place it.

Avallach's eyes narrowed. "Believe what you will; the truth is that we meant well."

When Meli didn't comment, he went on. "Unfortunately, some of the Watchers went bad, with catastrophic results. There are always two assigned to each world. Sometimes both went bad, and their worlds were destroyed or nearly so by their pursuit of power over the inhabitants. On other worlds, one went bad and the other must fight him while still trying to limit and repair the damage. It's an exhausting task—too much for one."

He cleared his throat. "So we select champions, men and women who will be able to infiltrate key societies and right those wrongs—"

"Zarekael." She said his name without even thinking it consciously, while the realization was still coming. "He's known to have come from another world through a gateway—"

"Yes," Avallach said. "Zarekael Sel Dar Jerrikhan. Yours was the first world to which we sent him, and this was to be his second." He sighed. "But as I said, something obviously went wrong. He's still alive, yet you, not he, came through the gateway, and you arrived almost three months early."

"I'm sure he'll be disappointed to hear it," Meli retorted. "I don't mind telling you I'm not at all thrilled, myself."

"He has no way of knowing about it," the Watcher blurted, and his eyes widened suddenly as if he realized he had said too much.

"_What._" Meli's voice was cold and deadly—the same tone she used with Death Eaters, Voldemort, and problem students. "Do you mean to tell me that Zarekael is unaware of his status as champion?"

Avallach cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, we always tell them after the second changing of worlds." He sounded almost pleading. "The first shift can be taken for a strange accident, and often the champions are grateful; we pull them out at the moment of death."

"How very merciful of you."

"And we only choose champions whose souls are forfeit!" Avallach pressed on stubbornly and rather desperately, but Meli heard the undertones of a man trying to convince himself of a lie. "Zarekael was damned before he ever left his own world."

"Bullshit!" she spat. "He was no angel in his world or mine—I know that quite well—but his soul was no more forfeit than mine is, you bloody lying worm!"

Avallach raised his chin and gave her a cold glare. "In any case, there's nothing you can do for him now. He _is_ marked, we _do_ have a claim on him whether or not _you_ understand and approve, and he _will_ be moved when the time comes!"

"And since you have no corresponding claim on me, you're going to send me back where I came from," Meli hissed.

"I'm afraid that's impossible." He looked regretful, almost even believably so. "The gateway is closed behind you; there is no going back. Even now, you're lying in a coma in the hospital wing, and when you wake up, it'll be in a world about to descend into chaos."

"How convenient for you," Meli said through her teeth. "I can either go along with your little repair scheme, or I can live as a hermit and blame myself when it all goes to hell because I did nothing."

Avallach shrugged. "I never said we were fair to our champions."

"And because you're employing emotional blackmail to motivate me, I can't even bargain for Zarekael to be left in peace as a condition of my agreement."

The Watcher set his jaw. "Zarekael Sel Dar Jerrikhan is not on the table, and no leverage you possess could ever put him there."

"Very well." Meli took an intimidating step toward him. "Out of the _goodness_ of my black heart, I'll put your shagging Humpty Dumpty back together again, but I do have _very_ specific terms that you _will_ meet, or so help me, I will let this world be damned."

"Name your terms," Avallach allowed, "and then we'll talk."

"First, if I need you, I'll call you; I won't have you popping in and out to muck things up."

Avallach raised his eyebrows. "You've been watching too much _Star Trek_, my dear," he chided. "I'm not Q."

"Secondly," Meli said, glaring at him, "that will be the last time you call me 'my dear', or I'll see to it personally that you're unable ever to produce little Watchers." She narrowed her eyes a hair further. "And _you're_ the one who introduced science-fiction with your parallel universes.

"Thirdly, it sounds as if you have some knowledge of what's coming in this world. I want every single detail you have—times, places, people, and chains of events."

"It can be done," Avallach said, looking impressed, "but the, hm, information upload will take some time. Best if you stay comatose for it."

"I've been in a coma before," Meli growled. "I'm fairly sure my constitution can stand for it."

Avallach shrugged. "Fair enough. Any other demands?"

"Only one." Meli widened her eyes. "You've made it quite clear that I'm not one of your champions, which means that you have no hold over me. When this is over, if there truly is no way to send me home, you _will_ leave me where I am. I'm not your pawn, and I won't agree to become one. Is that understood?"

Avallach was silent a moment, and she was almost afraid that she'd gone too far. At last, though, he nodded. "What you say is, unfortunately, very true," he sighed. "And if calling you 'dear' is enough to warrant a threat to my manhood, I probably don't want to know what stiffer penalties you have up your sleeve."

She favored him with a mirthless smile. "I'm so glad we understand each other."

The Watcher smiled grimly. "Very well. I'll gladly meet your terms. Anything else you'd like to ask or discuss?"

Meli snorted. "My opinion of people who play God comes to mind, but that might require more of your time and honesty than you're prepared to part with."

Avallach rolled his eyes. "How fortunate that I never entertained hopes of us being friends. Sweet dreams, then, and happy waking."

"Fuck you," she replied, but Avallach just smiled and disappeared, and a moment later the room faded to black.


	2. The Visitor

**Chapter 2: The Visitor  
**Two days passed before the young woman woke, and a number of things happened in that time. Mr. Crouch had turned up and disappeared again, leaving a Stunned Viktor Krum and a lot of questions in his wake, and if that hadn't been enough to put everyone on edge, the near-simultaneous appearance of a screaming stranger in the hospital wing was. Dumbledore had been to see her as soon as he could get away from Karkaroff, and under his orders and Moody's direction, she had been moved to a private room at the back of the hospital wing, which was now so heavily warded that even an inquisitive beetle couldn't get in without Dumbledore's permission.

Apart from the mediwitch, the headmaster, and the Auror, the only one who knew about the unorthodox visitor was Snape, and that was only because Madame Pomfrey had heard the patient call his name once. Dumbledore had called Snape in, in hopes that the Potions master could identify her and possibly shed some light on things, but Snape was as confused as the others and rather disturbed on top of it. He had more than enough to keep him preoccupied, between Moody's snooping, Karkaroff's whining, Harry Potter making a nuisance of himself, and the steadily darkening mark on his arm; he didn't need the mystery of who this woman was and what she might know, too.

Madame Pomfrey happened to be checking on the patient when she woke, and she was very shocked to hear the woman whisper, "Poppy?"

The voice was feeble and ragged, much as one might expect after the terrific beating it had taken… but she spoke clearly and without hesitation.

The mediwitch furrowed her brow. "You—you know me, my dear?"

Her smile was pained as she answered, "I think I did… once."

"I half-believe I've never seen you," Madame Pomfrey said apologetically. "What's your name?"

The young woman paused, her blue eyes falling out of focus a moment before she replied, "Neshdiana. That's what my brother called me."

Madame Pomfrey bit her lip. "I'm afraid I don't know that name. Who is your brother?"

"Zarekael," Neshdiana whispered, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "But you don't know him, either—of course, you couldn't. And you couldn't possibly know me." She slowly, painfully raised a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. "It's such an awful nightmare."

Madame Pomfrey watched, distressed but unable to do anything more than rest a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. Even that light touch didn't help; Neshdiana winced in pain at the contact.

"Oh, my poor girl," the mediwitch sighed, and that made Neshdiana cry even harder for some reason. "I don't know what to do for you. Professor Dumbledore will want to know you're awake, though; I should go tell him."

"He'll have questions for me." Neshdiana's tone was matter-of-fact.

"Yes."

She met Madame Pomfrey's eye and gave what could only be described as a brave little sniffle. "He may wish to bring Veritaserum with him, and if—" She sighed. "It may be likewise helpful for Professor Snape to come, as well." Her eyes widened suddenly. "But I won't say a word in front of Alastor Moody!"

Madame Pomfrey actually drew back at the venom in Neshdiana's last statement, but she nodded in as comforting a manner as she could manage. "I will pass on your wishes to Professor Dumbledore," she said. "Obviously… I can make no promises for him."

"I understand." Neshdiana mustered a tiny smile. "Thank you so much, Poppy."

ooo

Madame Pomfrey found Dumbledore in his office, frowning over the previous day's issue of the _Daily Prophet_. He looked up with a smile, though, and offered her a lemon drop and a seat as he set the paper aside.

"And how does our visitor do, Poppy?" he asked.

"She's awake," she replied. "Her name, she says, is Neshdiana, and she has a brother named Zarekael. She appears to have some knowledge of us, but I've never heard of her—or of him."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Nor have I," he said. "Well. I suppose I had better speak with her, then." He stood up and started to come around his desk.

Madame Pomfrey also stood, clearing her throat uncomfortably. "Yes… touching on that…"

The headmaster paused. "Yes?"

"It's quite extraordinary, Albus… but she suggests that you bring Veritaserum and have Severus accompany you—and she flatly refuses to speak to Alastor."

Dumbledore stared at her. "She doesn't trust Moody?"

"I gather that… she harbors some grudge," Madame Pomfrey replied. "She appears genuinely to hate him."

He narrowed his eyes. "Most extraordinary," he murmured. "And yet for the first interview, at least, there can be no harm in humoring her. She is disarmed, of course?"

The mediwitch nodded. "Yes, though I doubt she's in any condition to make any sort of stand. The lightest touch causes her pain."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Very well. Severus and I will come to see her within the hour."

ooo

Dumbledore and Snape arrived almost on Madame Pomfrey's heels, the latter bringing a bottle of Veritaserum in the folds of his robe. The mediwitch insisted on being present for the interview, if only to see that her patient wasn't overtaxed, and while Neshdiana gave her a look of affectionate exasperation, she didn't protest.

There was a pause while Dumbledore conjured three squashy chairs in the already-cramped room and dosed Neshdiana with the Truth Potion, but it was brief.

"And now," the headmaster said, settling into his chair and turning his eyes on the visitor, "I confess myself profoundly curious. Who exactly are you, and how do you come to know so much about us all?"


	3. Neshdiana's Tale

**Chapter 3: Neshdiana's Tale**  
Neshdiana closed her eyes and smiled bitterly. "Before I can tell you who I am in a way that will make any sense, I need first to tell you that I have come from what you might call… an alternate timeline—one in which many of the same people exist and some circumstances are the same, but in which certain events and situations have taken a very different direction."

Her eyes opened to focus on Snape. "The Severus Snape I knew, for instance, was part vampire, whereas you, I gather from the nature of your movements, are not."

Snape looked startled and even a little amused at the revelation. "Most assuredly not."

Neshdiana smiled briefly before resuming. "I was born Phamelia Marvolo Gaunt, named and raised by my grandfather, Tom Marvolo Riddle"—she surveyed their suddenly pale faces—"whom, of course, you know as Voldemort.

"He raised me to be loyal to him, but something—I do not pretend to know what—went awry with my training. At the age of ten, I gave in to my baser Gryffindor nature and announced to him, as publicly as possible, that I would never serve him and that, in fact, I would do everything I could to oppose him. My grandfather, you will understand, was not amused."

Distant anger flickered through her eyes, accompanied by a flash of deep anguish. "He placed me under a curse and a bane. By the terms of the bane, everyone I loved and cared for, everyone who offered me protection or friendship, was sentenced to death." She swallowed. "My parents were brutally murdered, as were my childhood friends and my fiancé. Others were forced into hiding lest they, too, be killed by Death Eaters."

She took a deep breath. "The curse was far more complicated, and it is responsible for the dramatic fashion of my entrance when I came here." She gave Madame Pomfrey an apologetic look. "I have never seen or heard of its like; he must, as he claimed, have created it himself.

"It bound me to him so that any time he used magic to torture or murder someone, I would hear his victims' screams and experience a torment many times that of the Cruciatus—and he specifically built in a safeguard to prevent me taking refuge in madness." She shook her head grimly. "It was a splendidly horrific punishment, but it did have one unanticipated side-effect.

"I could feel _him_ die." Her eyes flicked to Dumbledore. "I knew what happened at Godric Hollow before anyone else did, and I knew that he was defeated and weakened but not gone. The pain of his own curse rebounding on him was worse than any other I had ever experienced—until sixteen years later." Now she looked to Madame Pomfrey. "I came here at the moment of his true and final death."

"_How_ did you come here?" Snape asked, his expression unreadable, while Dumbledore shook his head and Madame Pomfrey shivered.

Neshdiana smiled wanly. "Here, too, I must beg your indulgence—once again, there are background details to fill in.

"In the timeline to which I'm native, I came to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts in Nineteen Ninety-Five—Harry Potter's fifth year, and consequently several months after now." Her smile turned sad. "While I was still interviewing for the position, Professor Snape introduced me to his apprentice, Zarekael Sel Dar Jerrikhan. He was a brilliant brewer, pursuing his Mastery, and as I discovered, he had also been Severus' ward.

"Zarekael was not human; he was a magical creature of a kind wholly unknown to my world and probably to yours. I don't know his full story, and I suspect I never shall. What I do know, however, is that his world was torn apart by civil war—a Dark Lord worse than Voldemort had taken over, and that world had been under Dark rule for thirty thousand years. Zarekael's entire family had been killed by agents of the Emperor, and he himself had been imprisoned and tortured.

"He escaped prison and joined the growing resistance movement to overthrow the Emperor. During one of the battles in which he fought, something went magically awry, and the next thing he knew, he was standing in front of Hogwarts."

Neshdiana shook her head. "He had absolutely no knowledge of our world, and his magic was untrained, so he, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Snape thought it best that he disguise himself as a child, attend school, and learn as much as he could in that way. He was entrusted to Severus' care, and over time he developed a powerful loyalty to his foster father.

"Because of his own history, he had no love for Dark Lords, and when Voldemort at last returned"—she gave first Dumbledore, then Snape, a penetrating look—"and Severus rejoined the Death Eaters as a spy for Professor Dumbledore, Zarekael accompanied him. Harry Potter was the one who ultimately defeated Voldemort, but Severus and Zarekael's work leading up to that final confrontation was critical."

She sighed and looked to Madame Pomfrey. "I have said that Zarekael was my brother, and so he is. We were a strange little family, we spies. I couldn't infiltrate the Death Eaters, of course, but after I was mistakenly reported dead, I helped to disappear and protect people important to the Order of the Phoenix; our activities often brought us together in one capacity or another.

"And it seems that, though we are now separated, Zarekael and I are bound by yet another common tie.

"There is a race who call themselves The Watchers, who have the ability to travel between worlds using magical gateways. Some of them went bad and developed a thirst for power, and the havoc they wreaked caused disruptions in various timelines. Zarekael's world fell to a Dark Lord because of it, and it would appear that something about Voldemort also is owing to it.

"The Watchers, in an attempt to fix the damage, select champions and pull them out of their own worlds at the moment of death. Those champions then act as catalysts to repair the damage at key points in the timeline. Zarekael was marked as a champion, which brought him to my world, and apparently he would also have been brought to yours."

"But you were brought instead," Dumbledore said.

"Quite by accident, I've been told," Neshdiana replied sardonically, "and that in no very flattering terms. The Watcher who met me was very surprised and a little upset, and he commented that I had come months early. He wasn't helpful, really, and I admit, I didn't encourage him to be. I think the gateway opening when it did must have been accidental—possibly caused by the colliding of power from several different sources. Harry Potter, of course, who threw the killing curse; Voldemort, who hemorrhaged power when he died; Severus and Zarekael, who were close at hand and fighting for all their worth; and possibly even me, since the curse binding me to Voldemort was in effect and serving as a conduit for an explosion of magic. So much power, with a marked champion in close proximity, might have caused the gateway to open, pulling me through instead." She shrugged. "It's only a theory, though—I've told you everything I know about the gateways, and it's barely enough to fill a thimble, as you see."

Silence reigned a moment while the others processed what they had heard and Neshdiana let them. It was broken at last by Snape, whose sepulchral tone kept his question from sounding at all ironic or amused.

"At the risk of waxing Messianic, are you then the one we should expect, or should we look for another?"

To judge by Neshdiana's expression, she felt the words for the slap in the fact that they were. "I have no pretensions about saving the world, Professor," she replied. "I have rather personal reasons for hating Voldemort, however, and I see no reason not to fight him here, since it would seem that going home and trading places with Zarekael aren't available options." She paused, apparently waging a brief battle with herself, but gave in and added, "Besides, if Potter's counterpart here is anything like the Potter I knew, you have more than enough Messianic complex already."

Snape's eyebrow twitched in surprise, and Madame Pomfrey gave her a disapproving look, but Neshdiana showed no sign of repentance.

"It seems that you also have reason to dislike Professor Moody," Dumbledore interposed quietly.

Rather than answering, Neshdiana looked to Snape. "Have you had a quantity of boomslang skin go missing, Professor?" she asked. "And has a certain Auror been rifling through your office?"

Snape's glittering eyes went wide, and that, it seemed was all the answer she needed. She turned back to Dumbledore. "I harbor no ill will toward Alastor Moody, Headmaster, but the man you call Professor isn't Moody at all."

"Poppy," Dumbledore said calmly, his eyes fixed on Neshdiana, "our guest has been talking for some time with a throat that really must be very sore. Would you be so kind as to brew her some chamomile tea?"

Madame Pomfrey frowned, but his tone left no room for argument; she tossed a disapproving look over her shoulder as she slipped out of the room

"Am I to assume that something similar took place in your own timeline?" Dumbledore asked once the mediwitch had gone.

Neshdiana nodded. "The very same thing."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "Voldemort has placed an agent at Hogwarts, then."

"Who?" Snape countered, with a dark glance at Neshdiana. "Everyone is accounted for—"

"Peter Pettigrew is not."

"And neither is Bartholomew Crouch, Junior," Neshdiana added softly.

Snape's look was sharper this time. "_Ours_ died in Azkaban," he sneered.

"So did ours," she replied calmly. "Or so we thought. We learned later that his mother took his place, and his father smuggled him out, keeping him in check with the Imperius."

"He must have broken through it, then," Dumbledore said. "That accounts for Moody searching Severus' office but showing up on Harry's map as Barty Crouch. It must have been the same person."

Snape stared at him, thunderstruck. "Do you mean to tell me there is evidence to corroborate this?"

"Only in retrospect," Dumbledore replied coolly. "The only things I had before were odd bits and pieces which made no sense. If, however, Moody _is_ an imposter… the pieces fit together far too neatly to be ignored."

The Potions master's expression was almost unreadable, but something like mistrust and resignation swirled briefly in his eyes. "Very well, Headmaster. If you are convinced, I suppose argument is pointless. How do you suggest we proceed?"

Dumbledore looked to Neshdiana, who shifted uncomfortably as he raised his eyebrows.

"Assuming things follow uninterrupted the same course they took in my timeline," she said slowly, "Crouch will do everything possible to ensure that Potter reaches the center of the maze first on the night of the final challenge. He will have turned the Triwizard Cup into a portkey ahead of time." She closed her eyes. "Potter and Cedric Diggory will arrive at the same time and take hold of the Cup together, so both will be transported to the cemetery in which Tom Riddle, Senior, is buried. Diggory, as a witness and nothing more, will be murdered immediately on their arrival."

She opened her eyes again and looked at each of them in turn. "The precise details of what more took place are sketchy at best and were never made known in their entirety to the Order. What I can tell you is that Voldemort returned in full strength and did battle with Potter, who escaped by some combination of luck and skill. He managed somehow to bring Diggory's body back with him."

"And young Crouch will tip his hand somewhere in the midst of this?" Dumbledore sounded oddly collected, as if they were only discussing a chess match. Neshdiana furrowed her brow and flicked her eyes to Snape before answering.

"After Potter came back," she said. "In the confusion, he took Potter up to his office and questioned him about Voldemort's return. He was preparing to kill Potter himself, but Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore interrupted him. The interrogation which followed yielded the information I've just given you."

Silence fell again while Snape and Dumbledore thought over what she'd said, and Neshdiana watched them both, her expression closed and a new wariness in her eyes. Snape was grave and even seemed worried, but the headmaster had taken on a peculiar look that was somehow hard and calculating, and blithely content, all at once.

"You say that Harry will survive?" Dumbledore asked after a few moments' silence.

Neshdiana swallowed. "_Assuming_ that things follow an identical course… yes."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, you _have_ pointed out that the Watcher said you came early. Do you think it unreasonable that Harry will have the same combination of luck and skill here that he had in your timeline?"

Snape's eyes widened fractionally. "Headmaster—"

"Consider, Severus," the other man interposed, turning unconcerned eyes on him. "Voldemort will effect his return sooner or later, no matter what we do here and now. If we expose Crouch and prevent him from following through with his plan, Voldemort will use some other tactic, through some other agent, and we have no way of knowing that the outcome will be nearly as favorable."

Snape's eyes flashed. "I fail to see how Cedric Diggory's meaningless murder is a 'favorable' outcome."

"Harry Potter's survival is paramount," Dumbledore countered placidly. "Cedric's death is a regrettable possibility, and we should of course do everything necessary and reasonable to prevent it without changing the present course of events. But for the sake of the greater good, I think that we should leave all other things as they are."

"The greater good," Neshdiana repeated, as if the words were wholly new and rather unpleasant to her. "What 'greater good' is served by Voldemort returning?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "He cannot be destroyed once and for all while he exists somewhere between life and death, Neshdiana." His tone was chiding, almost patronizing. "It is best for everyone that he be destroyed, rather than remain as a perpetually hovering threat—you, of all people, must see the logic of that."

Her features had settled into a neutral mask. "Yes, sir; it's nothing if not logical."

Snape wore a mask similar to hers, but his eyes were less unfriendly than they had been before. "Then what do you suggest we do, Headmaster?" he asked coolly.

"For the moment, nothing at all," Dumbledore replied. "Our ersatz Moody needs to be allowed to proceed unhindered, and he mustn't have the slightest clue that we suspect him. Fortunately, _you_ mistrusted him already, and _I_ am a better actor than you are, so there we need have no fear."

"And what about our unconventional guest?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "Change the wards for entry to this room," he said. "And I will tell him that our visitor cannot see him for reasons yet to be manufactured."

"Childhood trauma is a popular explanation," Neshdiana muttered. "Tell him my parents were slaughtered by a six-fingered man with only one eye."

If she had been trying to lighten the mood, she was spectacularly unsuccessful. Snape eyed her warily, as if he thought she'd gone loopy, and Dumbledore's expression was condescending and unamused.

"I'm sure we can be more _appropriately_ creative," the headmaster said coldly, standing up to leave. "Poppy believes you should be recovered enough to move from here in two or three days' time. In the meantime, is there anything we can provide for you?"

Neshdiana appeared only a little chastened by the reproof. "If it isn't too much trouble, sir, I should dearly like a book. Is there any Dickens I could borrow?" She looked hopefully from the headmaster to the potions master.

Snape hesitated then nodded reluctantly. "I have two or three Dickens novels—provided you're _very careful_ with them."

"I have a particular reverence for Charles Dickens," she assured him. "Not a scratch on them—I give you my word."

If Snape was surprised at her solemnity, he kept it to himself. "I'll bring them by for you shortly."

He, too, stood to leave, just as Madame Pomfrey swooped back in with the tea, and he narrowly missed a messy collision with her.

"Leaving already, gentlemen?" she said in a peremptory tone.

"I think they were afraid I might start up a philosophical discussion if they stayed," Neshdiana commented. Again, her potential attempt at humor fell flat, although Madame Pomfrey spared her an indulgent look.

"Just as well," the mediwitch replied. "You need _rest_, not a game of Twenty Questions."

"Very well, Poppy," Dumbledore said. "We won't trouble you any further today." He and Snape stepped out of the room without another word.

"Poppy," Neshdiana said, when the door was closed behind them, "Professor Snape promised to bring me some books—light reading only!" she added hastily. "Would it be possible for him to see me when he does? I'm certain he won't stay long."

Madame Pomfrey darted her a narrow look, as if searching for traces of duplicity, before she nodded. "As long as he's brief." She hesitated a moment, covering admirably by handing Neshdiana a cup of tea, then cleared her throat. "You don't trust them, do you."

Neshdiana bit her lip and gave the other woman an apologetic look. "Poppy, for all its resemblance to home, this place is _terra incognita_. Consequently… I trust no one."

ooo

Dumbledore and Snape, meanwhile, had paused just outside Neshdiana's door, the headmaster piercing his companion with a cold look. "Make the best possible changes to these wards that you can, and leave the rest to me. He is not to know or even to suspect a thing."

"And if she should take matters into her own hands?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "See to it that she does not."

Snape nodded and only gritted his teeth when Dumbledore's back was fully turned to him.


	4. What the Dickens?

**Chapter 4: What the Dickens?**  
Severus parted ways with Dumbledore at the entrance to the hospital wing, returning to Neshdiana's door just long enough to make a few basic changes to the entry wards and then retreating briefly to his quarters in the dungeons. He knew an urgent summons when he saw it, and whether the invalid was merely desperate for reading material or had something of actual importance to communicate, she had made it clear that she wanted him to come back with the books quickly.

That suited Severus just fine. He had a further question or two for her, and he didn't want Dumbledore around to hear the answers. Neshdiana might or might not be an Occlumence, but she was well aware that Severus was a Legilimens—and she had been screaming information at him every time she met his eye. Far from trying to block him out, she had intentionally brought things to the surface in her mind, and while that had answered some of his unasked questions, it had raised a few more.

It was unsettling how much she knew about each of them, but even more unsettling was the sure knowledge that even now Dumbledore was working out a plan for how to make the most ruthless Machiavellian use of Neshdiana while still minimizing her as a threat to the "greater good". For all his seeming benevolence and wisdom, Dumbledore had a sick tendency to see every living, breathing, and feeling person who came his way as little more than pawns for his use.

Severus' only faint comfort (and it was hardly untainted) was that Neshdiana was aware of the headmaster's nature, which was more than that prat Potter could say for himself.

Poppy was there to meet him when he returned with the books, but to his surprise, he didn't have to argue his way past her. She gave him a sharp look, told him to keep it short, and disappeared into her office, leaving him alone with an armful of Dickens and yet another question for the mysterious patient.

Neshdiana must somehow have seen his confusion when he entered the room because she let out a hoarse laugh. "And now you're wondering about my mysterious powers over the dear but overzealous mediwitch?"

Severus felt his lip quirk, but otherwise kept his amusement in check. "Something of the sort."

"Well, to be perfectly honest, that makes two of us." Neshdiana shrugged. "I did ask her to permit a brief interview and assured her that it _would_ be brief, but I expected more argument on her part." She looked a little rueful. "I think she feels sorry for me."

"An arrangement which displeases you?" Severus said sardonically.

"I have a deep aversion to pity, sir, and while I am not above emotional manipulation when no other means will serve, I prefer to reserve it for people I neither know nor like."

Severus stared at her. "I'm forced to admit that I cannot quite make you out." _And that only because I'm sure you know it already._

Neshdiana smiled. "I was Sorted into Gryffindor, which accounts for my bluntness. I've since discovered that I was probably a near-miss for Slytherin, which accounts for even more. Most of my closest friends have been Slytherins, and I believe that, were I to be re-Sorted now, I would instead be placed in Slytherin as a near-miss for Gryffindor."

"Which accounts for your bluntness on some points and your artful silence on others," Severus conceded, "but for little else. You are quite the stepdancer when it comes to speaking under the influence of Veritaserum."

She shrugged. "My foster family was Scottish, and it _was_ the Scots who perfected the art of dancing over crossed swords without harming themselves _too_ badly."

"I don't suppose you're prepared to part with your reason?" It was a form question, really; he knew better than to expect an answer.

She surprised him, though. "I have several reasons," she replied. "The first and most fundamental, however, is that the Dumbledore you know is a far cry from the one I knew. There is a cold, unfeeling calculation to this one that I do not trust, and so until I know how far I _can_ trust him, there are things which I choose to keep to myself." Her smile now was not a pleasant one. "You might even say that I do so for the sake of the greater good." The last two words she all but spat out.

Her words rendered Severus speechless, but his innate cynicism, engrained in him from an early age, came to the fore soon enough. "By your own account, I'm not the man you knew, either. Why, then, are you so honest with me?"

Neshdiana deliberately met his eye, and again there were absolutely no blocks in place. "You're not the Severus Snape I knew," she conceded, "but what I've seen so far has shown me that, on all of the points which matter, you are still an honorable and trustworthy man."

Severus shook his head incredulously. Everything he read in her showed that she meant every word, but if she wasn't a liar, she had to be toeing the line of madness. _Honorable?!_ No one in their right minds could or would ever have applied that word to him—certainly not Dumbledore, who was in the best position to make an honest assessment and declaration.

_You disgust me._

He set his jaw, and, as he did almost every day, pushed those words and the ghosts they conjured to the back of his mind.

"Your friend must have been a very different sort of man from me," he said.

"No." Neshdiana was undaunted. "And before you write me off as a delusional case, allow me to defend my statement—even if not my sanity." She raised her eyebrows and again met his eye. "I told you that my childhood friends were brutally murdered. One of them, along with her husband and four-year old daughter, was killed by none other than my friend and brother Zarekael Sel Dar Jerrikhan, with the Severus Snape I knew standing by as a witness."

Severus felt his throat tighten. "And you still call them your _friends_?" He saw in her eyes that it was so, and he had to look away; it was the most alien thing he had ever encountered in his life.

"I do." Her voice was soft. "I found out about it two and a half years ago, and not only did we remain friends but those friendships have grown infinitely stronger since then."

He shook his head. "You're right about one thing, at least," he said coolly. "It does not speak favorably of your sanity."

She sighed—in resigned frustration, he thought. "I see that grace is as foreign a concept in your world as it was in mine. Rather an obvious fact, I suppose, but an unfortunate recurring epiphany for me."

Severus actually felt a spark of pity for her and found himself sitting down at her bedside with a sigh. "It's obvious that you're out of your element here," he said bluntly. "What do you really think you can do?"

To his surprise, she looked up with a determined, flashing eye; something in his question had roused the Gryffindor lion. "I'm sure as hell not going to lay down and die before I've bloodied His Royal Dark Poseur Highness' nose a bit," she growled. "So I can't trust this Dumbledore as I did the other; that's a setback, nothing more. It simply means that I must find and explore other avenues."

He stared at her, first trying to assign a fully logical meaning to her initial statement and then trying to work out what it was in her short speech that almost made him want to sign on with her cause. The first he gave up for a complete loss and a bad job; the second he kept around for further pondering later on.

"Setting aside Dumbledore, even if it were and easy matter, means setting aside the Order and its resources," he reminded her.

"And there are no other resources to be found," she countered sarcastically. "Or at least, none so good as an accused mass-murderer hiding out with his tail between his legs, an unemployable werewolf, the Boy Who Lived, and his two plucky sidekicks?"

Severus had no clear memory of the last time he had smiled, but he knew that it had been an eternity since his smiles had been anything other than smug, nasty, or mocking. He was smiling now, though, in open surprise, and he caught himself almost letting out a shocked laugh.

"As you see," Neshdiana continued sardonically, "I have some rather settled views about the resources of the Order."

"Do you have any intention of telling Dumbledore what you're about?"

She shrugged. "If I can be sure of his not trying to take hold of it and exploit it for his own definition of the greater good, I shall be happy to drop him a note at some point or other."

Severus had the sudden, almost inexplicable mental image of Neshdiana wearing a kilt and dancing over a basket-hilt sword crossed with its scabbard. "I see your meaning."

She looked sidewise at him and smirked. "I have no doubt that the wise and benevolent headmaster has given your orders to keep me under observation so as not to spoil his present plan for a certain poseur's imminent return." She narrowed her eyes. "I have no intention of making your job at all difficult. I'll allow Dumbledore his way without a murmur—this time."

Snape narrowed his own eyes. "Even if it means allowing Cedric Diggory's death?"

Neshdiana set her jaw. "It won't—not if I have anything to say about it, at any rate. There, at least, Dumbledore has left some freedom to act."

He felt a grudging swell of admiration for her and had to admit, if only to himself, that it was easy enough to see how she and his counterpart had been friends.

"If you should need any assistance," he said, "I will be glad to do what I can, provided it is reasonable."

She nodded solemnly. "And I will do my utmost never to ask anything of you that would compromise you with Dumbledore. I understand that you're rather tightly bound."

There was a soft click behind him, and Severus witnessed a sudden amazing change in Neshdiana's expression and posture. "I _was_ rather hoping you might have _Our Mutual Friend,_ she sighed, looking innocently disappointed. "But there I go, being ungrateful again. Did you like _Great Expectations,_ Professor?"

"You're still talking about books?" Poppy's tone was surprised, but thankfully not suspicious. Severus silently berated himself for sitting with his back to the door, but he was also grateful for Neshdiana's quick wits.

The patient herself looked puzzled. "Still?" she echoed. "He only just came in five or so minutes ago, I'm sure!"

"_Twenty_ minutes," Poppy corrected, exasperated. "Surely there can't be much more to discuss with reference to Charles Dickens?"

Severus cleared his throat and stood up, giving a good appearance (if he did say so himself) of embarrassment and a sudden remembrance of duty. "Yes, well," he said, clearing his throat again, "sparse as the collection may be, I hope you manage to enjoy the reading."

Neshdiana blinked in apparent surprise at his abruptness. "Er… thank you, sir—not a scratch on them, you have my word."

Severus nodded curtly, first at her then at Poppy, and made good his escape, leaving the books but taking several new thoughts with him.


	5. The Game's Afoot

**Chapter 5: The Game's Afoot**  
The next three days passed in relative peace. Beneath the name-mask of Neshdiana, Meli Ebony evaluated everything she knew about her present situation—both the information given her by Avallach and her own observations thus far—and formulated the beginnings of a plan. In the outside world, Neshdiana made her way slowly through _Great Expectations _(which was every bit as annoying as she remembered it being),_ Bleak House,_ and _A Tale of Two Cities_; in the inner world of her mind, Meli bided her time and plotted.

Snape had been right—more so than he realized—when he had said that it would be difficult to operate independently of Dumbledore and the Order. As much as she might attempt to downplay their importance, she had to admit that several Order members had proven very helpful at key points in her own timeline.

Even beyond the question of people, however, there was the vexing question of money. In her own world, she had had money saved away in a Gringott's vault, and when she was reported dead and therefore couldn't access her own funds, she had still had the financial backing of friends who knew that she was alive and who approved of her Order activities. Snape had been the last surviving son of an old Welsh vampire clan, and both he and Zarekael held the patents for several impressive potions, which factors combined to make them both rather wealthy. It also meant that Snape was proprietor of an out-of-the-way manor house, the dungeons of which had provided both living quarters and a headquarters for Meli's clandestine Order work—not to mention a very helpful valet in the person of Alfred, one of the more sadistic Snape family house elves.

In this timeline, however, there were no Snape family house elves, and the only house Snape had any claim on was a hovel on Spinner's End, which was known to Voldemort. Even _if_ he offered her living space there (which was far beyond merely doubtful), she would be tripping over an unwelcome roommate named Wormtail in another year or so, which would more than complicate things. Independent financial backing wasn't an option for the simple reason that she was entirely without contacts in this world, and she didn't have a clear line on a job for the foreseeable future.

She had ruled out teaching immediately. This Dumbledore would never approve her to teach at Hogwarts, especially not Defense Against the Dark Arts, and as far as she could see, the Ministry's takeover of the school was set in stone anyway. There could be a hundred qualified and eager applicants, and Dolores Umbridge would still be the appointee, no matter what. This world's Cornelius Fudge was twenty times the paranoid tampering git she had known.

The good news about not teaching was that she would be out of the public eye and a bit less conveniently placed for Dumbledore's scrutiny. He had no idea just how very much she knew about him, his world, and his war, but even the small amount to which she'd admitted had convinced him that she knew far too much. He wouldn't trust her to teach, but he wouldn't be letting her out of his sight any time soon.

And there, of course, was where the game began. She was on her own when it came to finding and accumulating resources, but if she meant to keep her end of the bargain with Avallach, she had to do it—all the while under Dumbledore's scrutiny, without the headmaster discovering or suspecting what she was about.

That was all right. She was a Gryffindor who liked a challenge… and she was a Slytherin who was quite up to it.

Deprived of contacts within Dumbledore's Order, she would have to form her own, and fortunately, she had a few leads to work with, if she could only get out from under Dumbledore's patrician nose for a few hours at a time.

Money was a little harder, but her thoughts about Snape and Zarekael's patents offered some inspiration there. She wasn't a potions genius by any means, but she was competent enough that Snape had offered to recommend her as a teacher once upon a time. Even if she couldn't find work as a freelance brewer, she might be able to make some money as an ingredient-supplier to one or more independent herbalists or brewers. Zarekael had sometimes let her tag along on his gathering treks through the Forbidden Forest; she knew what to find where, and some of what was out there was fairly valuable.

There was another advantage to forming a business connection with an herbalist, though, even if she didn't like to think about it.

In just over three weeks, Voldemort would be restored to full power, heralding his return with a series of Unforgivables that had landed her in a Muggle hospital for days the first time she'd lived through it. In theory, she _probably_ wasn't connected to this Voldemort by that curse, but there was no way to know for sure until the event itself came. In her own world, she had always kept ready-to-hand a collection of specific potions that would allow her to recover more quickly from the "seizures" resulting from her curse.

Unfortunately, all of those potions contained at least one ingredient that was considered "gray" (which most chose to interpret as "Dark"), which meant that she couldn't simply waltz into any shop on Diagon Alley to buy them. Her tainted childhood had given her a disquieting comfort with the environs of Knockturn Alley, but she wasn't about to go within spitting distance of that place while Dumbledore was keeping an eye on her.

If she meant to prepare for the worst, then, she would have to find a dealer outside of Diagon Alley who had a more liberal-minded approach to certain items, and preferably one who was willing to barter, at least at first.

Nothing from her timeline came immediately to mind, and while Avallach had given her details on everything and everyone that could be or already was relevant to her mission, he hadn't exactly uploaded the Wizarding world's Yellow Pages directly into her brain.

Well, that was her first order of business, then—once she knew for sure how long a leash Dumbledore was going to permit her, of course. Assuming he didn't put her under house arrest (which seemed extreme, even for him), she needed to collect bartering bait and locate someone to barter with.

After that, things got a little more complicated. She needed to create what amounted to a shadow Order, and if she had her preference, it would be in place by the time Harry laid his mitts on the Triwizard Cup. It was an ambitious goal, even by Slytherin standards, and it meant a _lot_ of clandestine activity to be kept from Dumbledore and possibly from Snape. On the one hand, she supposed that Dumbledore would be pleased enough by her not interfering with Moody's imposter that he might not watch as closely what she was actually up to… but she didn't want to count on it.

And those activities themselves did require a lot of careful planning. There were alliances to be made with people who might be predisposed to disbelieve her and who would definitely want a _lot_ of explanations up front—very likely with the help of Veritaserum.

The list of contacts, fortunately, was short enough: Andrea Underhill, an American Auror; Crimson Fell, a British Unspeakable currently attached to the Edinburgh office; and her twin brother Collum Fell, a mediwizard on the Closed Ward at St. Mungo's.

It would be best, she thought, to start with either Andrea or Crimson and to go with Collum last. He would be easier to contact and probably the easiest of the three to convince, but Crim would see it as a deliberate duping of the more gullible sibling in hopes of duping both. In that event, Crim would be twice as hard to convince, and Meli would lose even more time than she already anticipated.

Crimson first, then, or Andrea. It was a tall order for three weeks' time to organize all three, but she thought that it might just be possible. What happened after that, of course, depended on what the coalition decided to do.

She didn't know offhand how much Avallach had known, suspected, or figured out about her probable plans, but he had very kindly provided her with information on counterparts of friends and allies from her native timeline. These three could be counted upon as trustworthy, but all of them were, for varying reasons, outside Dumbledore's consideration and notice. None would ever be tapped for membership in the Order of the Phoenix, but any one of them could potentially be a great asset.

That, Meli thought coolly, was Dumbledore's loss. Andrea, being an American and almost comically suspicious by nature, was outside his reach, but the Fell twins… well. If he had somehow managed to remain ignorant of their loyalties and intrepidity during their time at Hogwarts, it was his own myopic fault, and she was happy to profit from his loss.

If she could only recruit all three of them, she could have more than reasonable confidence that full success was in reach. She knew the course this timeline would take if left to itself, as well as the course it was meant to take before someone had tampered with it. She also knew that there was one change, unsanctioned by Avallach and the Watchers, that she was going to make anyway, come Hell or high water—and in that change, too, she could be sure of Crimson and Collum's best help… if only.

_It all hinges on being able to recruit them,_ she thought, over and over again, as in the outside world she watched Defarge and the Jacquerie storm the Bastille on Dickens' page. _If I must go on alone, I'll be almost certainly predoomed to failure. Defarge and the Jacquerie could be an appropriate name for a dreadfully awful rock band... Andrea or Crim first, I wonder?_

Her thoughts were interrupted then by the door opening to admit Poppy, who offered her a kindly smile.

"How are you feeling today, dear?"

Meli, her mind still on darker matters, managed a twisted half-smile. "Better," she replied, realizing as she spoke that it no longer hurt to talk. She shrugged experimentally and tried moving her legs, finding that even the dull ache that had been her constant companion for days was more or less gone. "Much better," she amended. "How are you?"

"Very glad," Poppy said. "Most of the damage done was outside the scope of any potions I keep on hand, and Severus didn't express much hope of finding anything more effective." She smiled wryly. "Sometimes natural healing is the best way of it, I suppose."

Meli parted with a rueful smile of her own, knowing that Snape probably could have produced more effective brews but had thought it best not to. For all her goodness and light, Poppy wasn't stupid; she would have recognized the "gray" qualities of any of those medicines and had a flat-out hissy fit. "Sometimes," she agreed diplomatically.

"You're well enough to leave, I think, if you'd like to go," Poppy went on, and there was something in her tone that made Meli eye her more keenly. "The headmaster's asked to see you in his office as soon as you do."

"I understand." As neutral as she tried to keep her voice, the words still came out sounding cautious.

Poppy flushed and cleared her throat. "He also asked… that I not return your wand before he's spoken with you."

Meli stared at her, feeling suddenly lightheaded. "Does he really think I'm either so treacherous or so stupid?"

The mediwitch looked uncomfortable. "He had several arguments about how far from the tree fruit _can't_ fall." She met Meli's eye with a sudden sharp look. "It naturally offended my sense of charity… so when I return your robes to you, I think you'll find them exactly as they ought to be."

_With my wand tucked securely in its hidden sheath up the right arm._ Meli smirked. "Bless you, Poppy."

Poppy waved the words away. "I don't entirely know what you're up to, my dear, but my sense of people has rarely been proven wrong. My heart tells me that you're on the side of right." She gave Meli a stern look. "Do me the honor of _not_ making me a fool and a liar."

Meli nodded solemnly. "For the sake of friendship both old and new, I could never betray your trust." She closed her book and set it aside with a resigned sigh. "And now, I suppose, it's time I went to meet the headmaster."

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Yup, I used the word _mitts_. Not only that, I'm unrepentant and smirking broadly.  
zafaran, thank you so much for your gracious review. I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far, and I'll do my very best to keep the posts as consistent as possible. As for Snape... I'm one of those people who believes that, whether the author knew it or not, the books have always been mostly about him, and the rest is just window-dressing (some of it rather annoying window-dressing). He is my hero, and consequently, I am incapable of writing a story in which he _doesn't_ have a chance to shine, in his own snarky way.  
AE


	6. Unbreakable Leash

**Chapter 6: Unbreakable Leash**

Meli had only just finished changing from blue hospital pajamas to her customary all-black apparel (having already verified that her wand was indeed up one sleeve as it should be) when the door opened again to admit Snape.

"Ah, Professor," she said, innocent mask firmly in place. "Thank you again for lending me your books. They've been a source of comfort and diversion over many otherwise dull hours."

Snape's lip quirked, but his brief amusement was quickly buried. "I'm glad you enjoyed them. The headmaster has asked me to escort you to his office."

Meli nodded her assent and followed him without another word. He didn't appear to be in the mood for conversation, and apart from inane chit-chat, what was there to say anyway? "Lovely weather for this time of year", or "So, how 'bout them Chudley Cannons?" would probably just annoy both of them and might very well set her back in his estimation—not a helpful achievement under present circumstances.

Snape, meanwhile, kept a half-hearted eye on her the entire way, and she had the impression that the headmaster had "asked" (which she was beginning to interpret as "ordered") that he make sure she didn't try anything funny. Given that she was supposedly unarmed, it struck her as insulting overkill, and she wondered what it boded for her with reference to the restrictions Dumbledore meant to place upon her.

On reaching the gargoyle protecting the headmaster's office, Snape muttered the password just softly enough that she couldn't hear it and then accompanied her up the hidden staircase and through the door.

"Welcome, Neshdiana," Dumbledore said, standing up behind his desk. "You're looking much better."

"I'm feeling much better, thank you," Meli replied, managing not to choke out the words through the cloud of sugar-coated stench that had suddenly closed in around her. She had forgotten that Dumbledore kept candy dishes on every available surface in his office, and _this_ Dumbledore, at any rate, had no way of knowing that the mere scent of sugar was enough to make her stomach turn on itself.

The headmaster eyed her sharply. "You're sure?"

She forced a smile. "I don't… have much of a sweet tooth, sir, and sometimes sweet smells take me a bit off-guard—that's all. With regard to my initial impairment, however, I'm quite recovered."

"Ah. I see." He paused, clearly inviting her to give further details, but Meli had already decided, even before Poppy's reference to fruit falling far from the tree, that there was no way in Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory that Dumbledore would ever hear that particular part of her story.

Instead, she cleared her throat pointedly and offered a polite smile. "Madame Pomfrey said that you had asked her to keep my wand a little longer?"

The abrupt change of topic caught Dumbledore off-step. He cleared his own throat to cover his surprise and summoned up a regretful smile of his own. "An unpleasant formality only," he said. "You are, after all, still an unknown quantity."

"Ah. I see." Her parroting of his words was intentional, and she saw in his eyes that he knew it.

He offered her a mirthless smile—one that she had seen only once or twice before, directed at his spies when they had taken things, in his sole estimation, too far—and gestured to a chair. "Please, both of you, be seated."

She and Snape sat down in a pair of chairs separated by a small table with three candy dishes on it. Meli thought it impolitic to pick up and move any of them, but by subtle application, she managed to nudge the nearest one a few inches further away from her.

"So," Dumbledore said, once they were all seated and settled. "Have you any plans for what to do, now that you're well again?"

Meli shrugged. "I would be a fool not to, sir. I've made no secret of either my assigned mission or my, hm, profound _dislike_ for Voldemort; for me not to have at least a few thoughts and intentions would constitute irresponsible laziness. However, given my present situation, it would likewise be futile for me to settle any plans too firmly in my mind." She raised her eyebrows. "I do not, after all, know exactly where I stand or how I can best be put to use by those already organized and engaged in this world's battle."

After her private conversation with Snape, the potions master would have to be asleep at the wheel to take all of her statements at face value, but Dumbledore didn't share the benefit of inside information. He nodded slowly, and she sensed that he believed that much, at least.

"What is it that you hope and intend?" he asked.

"I hope," Meli said, "to be of some good use to the Order. What form that may take I leave to you, since you know best what you need. I have experience and skills in the areas of Defense and Transfiguration, and as I told you before, my primary job in my native timeline was to protect key people from being harmed or captured by Death Eaters."

"Are you perhaps hoping to teach at Hogwarts?"

She saw the trap in his question a mile away but kept all sign of it from her face and eyes. "No, sir. I only went to Hogwarts in my world because Professor Dumbledore requested it for my protection and because there was apparently no one else for the job. It's been two years since I last taught, and if I have my honest preference, it will be many, many more before I do so again."

Dumbledore hid his surprise almost well enough to keep it from her, but not quite. "I see."

"Even if I did enjoy teaching, which I do not," she continued, now lying through her teeth, "I think I would like more mobility and less visibility than a position at Hogwarts would provide. If Voldemort or one of his agents should learn that there's someone who knows a bit about things and who wants to make unorthodox changes, it's probably best that that person have no known, visible identity."

"You've given this careful thought," Dumbledore observed.

She shrugged. "Even Gryffindors value self-preservation, sir—particularly those who are fresh from three years of a _very_ bloody war."

He nodded. "Very true. We could, perhaps, cut that time short in this world by acting more quickly." He raised his eyebrows. "How was Voldemort defeated in your timeline?"

"It won't work here," Meli said bluntly. "What ultimately led to his defeat was a cascade failure in the magic keeping him alive, and of the two crucial factors which contributed to it, one and perhaps both are beyond our reach."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed with command. "Explain."

She raised her eyebrows but complied. "As I told you before, Zarekael is a magical creature. Everything in him has magical traits and properties, particularly his blood. Through a convoluted set of circumstances, most of which were never related to me, Voldemort somehow drank a quantity of Zarekael's blood. That caused fluctuations in his power, which worsened over time until they became noticeable to several of the Death Eaters. Professor Dumbledore and I had for some time been researching the ins and outs of close-blood magic, and we discovered at one point a spell which, if cast on a wizard or witch by a close family member, could temporarily destabilize or bind his or her power. It was used in the days before organized hospitals to contain advanced cases of Myrddin's Syndrome.

"We adapted it, and I got close enough to Voldemort just long enough to cast it. As we'd hoped, the effects were amplified by Zarekael's blood, to the degree that he was fully mortal and beginning to weaken in other areas by the time Harry Potter dueled with him."

Meli shook her head. "Even if I knew the circumstances well enough to reconstruct them here, we have no way to obtain any measure of Zarekael's blood… and I don't know that I'm considered close blood to this timeline's Voldemort. The Watcher did tell me that I have no counterpart here, and if that's the case…" She shook her head. "I don't know, and we have no way of knowing without trying something that by definition must be risky to the point of suicidal, not to mention probably futile."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Well, in any case, I don't know that it _could_ work here." To his credit, he sounded regretful. "Based upon what little I do know, it sounds as if the Voldemort here has used other methods to ensure his immortality."

_You know far more than that, even now,_ Meli thought, carefully keeping her scorn hidden._ But you'll wait another year even to hint at it—to anyone at all, you Machiavellian son of a bitch. How many horcruxes could be found and destroyed _before_ Voldemort's return?_ She couldn't say any of that, of course. The less Dumbledore knew, and the less he thought she knew, the better.

Instead, she nodded sadly. "Then I suppose other methods for his defeat must be discovered and explored."

"Which leaves us still with the question of where you fit into all of this," Dumbledore said. "Have you any interest in infiltrating the Death Eaters as your brother did?"

She couldn't check the involuntary shudder his suggestion elicited, and she didn't bother to try. "If you ask it of me, sir… I can... try." She attempted to keep her voice even and had only partial success. "I can't say with any honesty that it would give me… much pleasure."

Dumbledore, of course, had no idea beyond vague philosophical concept what it was that he was asking. Meli, however, had spent her childhood surrounded by Death Eaters, hearing the sounds of Dark Revels even though she never attended, seeing the tortures and horrific deaths of Muggles and traitors. Even after getting free of her grandfather, she had been called in to identify the bodies of loved ones murdered by Death Eaters, and as an adult, she'd been captured not once but twice. She knew better than anyone outside that inner circle what serving Voldemort, even as a pretense, meant. She had seen firsthand the things required of Zarekael, who was never loyal to the Dark Lord a day in his life, and the awful toll it had taken on him.

No, she didn't want to infiltrate the Death Eaters—not one tiny bit.

The headmaster, probably reading some of this in her expression, looked surprised and even softened somewhat. She felt a brief flicker of guilt for writing him off as an entirely heartless machine, but she reminded herself firmly that she still couldn't allow herself to trust him as she'd trusted his counterpart.

There was a quiet rustling to her left, and she started; she'd completely forgotten about Snape.

"Even if she were perfectly willing," the potions master said, "the Dark Lord is very selective about whom he admits to his ranks. Everything must be known—bloodline, loyalties, personal history. There is no way to establish any of these for Neshdiana to a degree that would withstand his scrutiny. The Ministry is already infiltrated; I have no doubt that Lucius Malfoy, who has full access to all records, would make every effort to verify any claims she made for herself."

"Yes," Dumbledore murmured. "I suppose you're right." He sighed and looked at Meli. "It seems that your coming early has ironically put us at a disadvantage. We know about Moody, of course, and we know when Voldemort will return, but we do not know how and where you will be most useful. I do agree with you, Neshdiana, that a lower profile is best, but it does rule out certain possibilities."

"I am content to wait until something makes itself apparent," Meli said, looking as pious and humble as she could manage.

"And there _are_ menial ways in which she might make herself useful in the meantime," Snape added. "Helping Poppy keep the hospital wing tidy, for instance?"

The look Meli shot him was less than grateful. Dumbledore, observing this, nodded slowly. "Cleaning out bedpans, Severus?" he suggested mildly.

"I'm sure that task would enter into it, along with others of a less distasteful nature." Snape's voice and expression were both uncharacteristically bland, and it suddenly occurred to Meli that he was probably angling for something particular.

_You sly sneak,_ she thought. _What are you playing at, and why?_

"And perhaps you wouldn't mind a little 'menial usefulness' in cleaning up after classroom disasters?"

Now Snape's expression turned annoyed. "I am _quite_ capable of caring for my own classroom, Headmaster," he said stiffly. "And for the less pleasant tasks, I can always recruit help by assigning detentions."

"I'm sure you can," Dumbledore replied soothingly. "But things are rather more stressful than usual just now; I think you need the help."

_He can't possibly be that stupid. Either that, or things have been said outside of my presence before this interview._ She saw—perhaps—the workings of a Slytherin mind at play. If Dumbledore could be (or had been?) convinced that Snape disliked and mistrusted her, he would be more likely to put her in close proximity to Snape, believing that they would never collude and that Snape would keep a particularly sharp eye on her simply because he didn't like her.

And that might just give her the space she needed to follow through with her plans.

Assuming, of course, that Snape actually _did_ trust her….

"I'm sure I don't," Snape countered meanwhile.

"But you'll have it nonetheless." Dumbledore's eyes and voice were sharp with absolute command.

Snape gritted his teeth and glared at the headmaster, but it appeared that the debate was over. "Yes, sir."

Meli cleared her throat. "Ah, Headmaster… if it's going to be so much trouble—"

"No trouble at all," Dumbledore assured her, apparently oblivious to the seething and almost smoking Snape. "Severus will show you what needs to be done, and I'll make arrangements for some monetary compensation. You are, of course, welcome to live at Hogwarts. Once we're done here, Severus, why don't you show her to available living quarters?"

Snape narrowed his eyes so hatefully that Meli prayed he was putting on an act. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore beamed. "Thank you, Severus." His smile faded as he turned back to Meli. "This, of course, does bring us around to less cheerful matters."

_The leash_. Meli nodded but said nothing.

"For all our pleasant chat," he continued, "I think it's clear that we do not all trust one another completely."

Snape looked defiant; Meli opted for chagrined.

"Severus and I have a clear understanding of one another, but you, my dear, are something of a wild card, as the Muggles might say." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and smiled soberly. "If only because you come from a similar timeline in which people and their loyalties are similar to their counterparts here, you know a great deal about what course our war will take, and that, of course, gives you the undeniable appearance of a threat."

Meli met his eye squarely. "Clearly, Headmaster, you're building up to something." She gave him a mirthless smile. "If you mean to clip my feathers, please state your terms."

He inclined his head politely. "Very well. There are, as you have implied, certain restrictions which prudence dictates I place upon you, and because of the prevailing air of distrust, I believe that nothing less than an Unbreakable Vow is in order."

Meli stared at him, and even Snape blinked in surprise. She had expected some form of magical compulsion, of course—Dumbledore would want insurance, after all—but to bind her in such a way that her choice was obedience or death! There was no way she _could _have expected it, even from this darker and harder-edged Albus Dumbledore.

"The Unbreakable Vow," she echoed, scarcely hearing her voice over the sudden rushing in her ears.

"Headmaster…" Snape trailed off, seemingly at a loss.

Dumbledore looked from one to the other of them, his expression unmoved. "I would never make an unreasonable request as part of such a vow," he said. "And in time of war, certain grave measures are sometimes required that wouldn't otherwise be, for the sake of the greater good."

There were those sickening words again. "I want to know the requirements in advance," Meli whispered.

Dumbledore nodded, once. "A reasonable request. I would like you to vow that you will never provide information to Voldemort or to anyone you know to be his follower; that you will do everything in your power to assist Harry Potter and to keep him safe and alive until Voldemort's death; and that you will never betray the Order, it secrets, or its members to either Voldemort or the Ministry of Magic."

Meli ran over the directives in her mind, analyzing and examining them in relation to her own extracurricular plans. They were, as Dumbledore said, reasonable enough in and of themselves, and as long as he used the same or similar wordings in forming the Vow itself, she was in little danger of suddenly dropping dead… but the extremeness of the measure itself rankled with her.

_Unfortunately, you're supposedly unarmed, and unless you want to either kill Dumbledore or get Poppy into a lot of trouble, the only way out of this office is through that damnable Vow._

She sighed. "All right, then. I'll take the Vow."

"Very well." Dumbledore flicked his eyes to Snape. "Severus, if you would be so good as to serve in the office of Bonder?"

Meli was sure she could hear Snape's teeth grinding. "Yes, sir."

ooo

Ten minutes later, there was no going back, even if she had wanted to—and there was no going back to her long-cherished love and respect for the kindly headmaster she had known, once upon a time.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** In case it's not blindingly obvious, I am not, hm, _happy_ with the canonical Dumbledore as established in Book the Seventh, especially since there had been absolutely no prior indication of his being _so_ bloody brutal. In the interest of character consistency, one is almost forced to conclude that Dumbledore's benevolent nature as it appears in the first six books is less his real face and more a manipulative façade. Since one of the goals of this fanfic is to attempt a reconciliation of these two faces of Dumbledore, his behavior is going to be portrayed more consistently where possible, although it will probably appear at-odds with what was considered canonical and consistent for over a decade. I do apologize if it seems jarring and if it offends the feelings of any Dumbledore fans who may be reading this (it certainly offends my own—thank you, JKR). Please do bear with me, though—and Meli and Severus, I humbly ask it of you, too.  
AE


	7. Bane's Warning

**Chapter 7: Bane's Warning**

As Dumbledore had "requested", Snape led Meli from the headmaster's office to one of the guest wings. Because of its nearness to the dungeons, it was considered by most to be drafty and unpleasant, with the result that, even though Hogwarts was swarming with visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, this particular wing was deserted.

"Not the most pleasant of spots," Snape noted sardonically, "but it does have its convenient aspects."

Meli smirked. "Given that my last two places of residence were _in_ dungeons rather than _near_ them, I'm not likely to complain."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"There's a reason my students called me The Epileptic Vampire when they thought I wasn't listening." She walked halfway down the wing and selected a door almost at random. "I'm pale and dark, I have a widow's peak, I lived in the castle dungeons, and"—she opened the door to reveal a room with no windows—"I don't like sunlight." She glanced at Snape and smiled. "This one will do nicely, I think."

He snorted. "Very well. Would you like to settle in, or would you rather inspect the untidy state of my classroom?"

She eyed him carefully as she tried to figure out the actual meaning of his words. It _could_ be nothing more than a straightforward question, or it might be that he really did resent Dumbledore's assigning her to him as a glorified house elf… or he might be offering the chance for useful conversation in a more secure setting.

If this had been the Snape that she knew (and she had to remind herself constantly that he was not), there would have been no reason to wonder. Under present circumstances, however—

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained!_ the Gryffindor lion roared, making up her mind for her.

"I'm sure they're quite as manageable as you say," she replied, "but it can't hurt to have a look, if only to find something to keep me occupied and out from under foot."

The quirk at one corner of his mouth told her that she'd given the right answer.

ooo

They were silent again until after they'd come to the Potions room and Snape had the door closed behind them. He paused only long enough to cast a handful of secrecy charms before turning back to face her.

"Since today is Saturday and tomorrow Sunday," he began, "I suppose I should ask first if there are any days of the week when religious observance will not permit you to work?"

Meli smirked. "I haven't been much of a church-goer the past three years. I do what's necessary when it's needed, in the hope that God will understand." She raised her eyebrows. "And speaking of hoping to understand, _do_ you resent my presence here as much as the headmaster seems to believe?"

"Insofar as it serves my ends, the headmaster believes what I have led him to believe, and under this roof, at least, it is most expedient that an appearance of antipathy continue." Snape's eyes glittered. "With a mere Gryffindor, of course, I could never be so forthcoming, but you fortunately appear to have your wits about you."

She smiled sadly. "Well… I learned from the best, sir."

He paused awkwardly in response—something she had never seen his counterpart do. The Snape she knew was suave and aristocratic, choosing not to interact with others at their level because they were stupid and boring. This Snape, by contrast, gave off disdainful vibes with occasional sparks of social awkwardness like this one, as if he would interact with others if he could but he somehow had no idea how best to go about it.

"At any rate," she went on, as if there had been no pause at all, "your admirably constructed façade does provide some breathing space. Have you any thoughts or plans for what best use to make of it?"

Snape seemed almost exasperated and a touch disappointed. "I had hoped that _you_ would have done so."

"I have done," Meli assured him smoothly. "I only meant that I didn't want to forge ahead on the assumption that you had no ideas of your own."

"Ironically, my hands are more tightly bound than yours. Beyond buying you the space and offering what assistance I can when it's asked of me, I'm afraid I have very limited autonomy at this time."

She nodded. "That's perfectly all right. You've already been of inestimable help, simply by buying that space." She sighed. "My plan for the moment is to locate the resources that I would otherwise be without, which will require me to leave the castle for a few hours at a time here and there."

Snape thought for a moment. "As long as you're careful to return with some item or two that I need for my classroom, and you're not prominently visible in odd places, I can keep Dumbledore from suspecting you of doing more than running errands."

"And since you _so_ resent my presence," Meli added with a smirk, "you would of course send me on boring, annoying errands to simultaneously rid yourself of my presence and humiliate me."

"Naturally."

"And actually…" His mention of buying potions implements had jogged a memory. "I was wondering—do you have a listing of London herbalists?"

He raised his eyebrows. "The Diagon Alley merchants are not sufficient?"

She cleared her throat. "I'm not certain that my tie to Voldemort is completely severed," she replied. "There _are_ potions I can use to blunt the pain and even to speed up some of the healing, but as I'm sure you know without my having to say anything further, they're not something for which I can find all of my supplies on Diagon… and I have no intention of venturing anywhere near Knockturn, certainly not when I'm ostensibly running errands for you."

Snape had gone a little pale and gave a jerky nod. "I appreciate your consideration." He took a deep breath. "And you're right—you won't find what you need on Diagon Alley. You'll want an independent dealer." He furrowed his brow. "How did you buy your supplies before?"

Meli smiled ruefully. "Until I became known as Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I went to Knockturn myself. After that… well. Two of my closest friends were potions masters whose faces were not exactly unknown there."

"Did Dumbledore know?"

"He not only knew, he _approved._" She saw the shock in his eyes and shook her head. "This Dumbledore is very different from the man I knew."

To judge by Snape's expression, such a radical difference between the two was too strange to comprehend. "I do have a listing," he said. "Is there anything else I can do to assist you?"

She thought a moment and shrugged. "Apart from showing me the nastiest cauldrons and flasks so I can start my sentence in the Purgatory of menial usefulness?" She grinned. "Not at the moment."

And for the barest second, she thought Snape might have been tempted to smile.

ooo

There was only one listing that someone in Snape's position could intelligently have in known possession, and that was the standard Ministry-approved who's-who that every British brewer kept on hand. There were no known Dark dealers anywhere in it (which was just fine by those dealers, who had their own, quietly-circulated listing), but there would be a handful of herbalists who simply neglected to publicize _everything_ they kept on hand when certain picky people came calling.

Meli immediately ruled out anything from Diagon Alley and all of the herbalists whose counterparts in her timeline had marched strictly in lockstep with Ministry regulations. It surprised her just how quickly that narrowed her list down to four. Of those, she had a vague memory that one had gone dodgy after Voldemort's return, and Snape had written in the margin beside another one "Waste of time".

"Well, then," she murmured, flicking her eyes back and forth between Hash & Hemp's and Pulcheria's, "I suppose I should flip a coin."

It would have been a more convenient strategy if she'd actually had a coin to flip, so in the end she settled for a child's choosing rhyme, and by that profoundly scientific method selected Pulcheria's.

Snape then conveniently got tired of her presence and ordered her out to the Forbidden Forest to forage for a handful of things that couldn't be found near the outside edge. Meli borrowed a rucksack from him, stopped by the hospital wing for the supposed reason of getting her wand back (which amused Poppy supremely), and marched off into the forest in the gloaming before sunset.

Her adventures with Zarekael had taught her where to find everything on Snape's list and several more things besides, all without troubling the centaurs (who for some reason didn't care much for Zarekael) or venturing too near the Acromantulas' lair. For everything else in the forest, she was fair game, so even though it was familiar territory, she took her time and kept her ears and eyes sharp for signs of trouble.

She had finished Snape's shopping list and was partway into her own when a roaring thunder of hoofbeats stopped her in her tracks. A large group of centaurs had ventured more than a mile east of their usual territory, and even before they came within range of her illuminated wand, she had the solid impression that it had something to do with her.

Her first instinct was to run, but she squashed it immediately; even if she could make it to the edge of the forest ahead of them (which was flat-out impossible), it would be the wrong message to send. Only with known evils did centaurs shoot first and ask later, but running would tell them that she might have something to hide. Better to stay and hear what they had to say, even if it was only one of their melodramatic ultimatums to stay off of their turf, and maybe formulate some sort of mutually tolerable agreement.

She stayed put, then, and while they were still coming, very slowly lowered her rucksack to the ground and laid her wand on top of it. It gave almost as much light from there, and it couldn't be used as a weapon without her telegraphing the intention to strike. By the time she straightened up again, the thunder had silenced and she found herself surrounded by a dozen or so centaurs.

Bane (the only one she recognized) stepped forward as Meli took two steps backward and away from her wand.

"What are you doing here, Meli Ebony?" he asked, his voice carrying no hint of emotion or mood.

Meli swallowed but met his eye. "I'm gathering potions materials for Professor Snape," she answered. "If you're asking why I've come to your world, though… It was an accident. They meant to bring another instead. They said that things have gone wrong, or are about to go wrong, that only an outsider can repair."

A rustle of surprise ran through the centaurs' ranks. "You are very forthcoming," Bane observed.

Meli shook her head. "With you I have no reason to be otherwise. The centaurs, in my experience, value truth and honesty, and you seem to have little patience for games of secrecy. A person can hardly contradict what you already know, either from the stars or from your own observations. What is to be gained, then, from a futile attempt at concealment, apart from a loss of your respect for no good reason at all?"

Bane's expression was a difficult read, but she thought he might look a little less pissed off than usual. "I see we understand one another, Meli Ebony." He inclined his head to one side. "You are very ambitious in your plans, and if you have success in laying the foundation you hope for, very little will be impossible for you. Know, however, that Harry Potter's quest is his own; you may help him in it, you may render parts of it easier, but the discovery and destructions are his alone to bring about, either by his own hand or at his order."

Meli smiled bitterly, feeling a little chagrined. _So much for destroying one or two of the horcruxes myself._ "I suppose it would be pointless to say that I'm a trifle disappointed."

Bane nodded, once. "Vengeance and vendetta are twisted justice. Release them, and you will be released."

"With all due respect, I let go of them a long time ago." She raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I contributed _a little_ to Voldemort's destruction, but I had no problem letting Harry Potter kill him."

The centaur looked a little angrier now. "You are honest enough with us, Meli Ebony; you must now be honest with yourself. If you would save this world, you must do what you have deemed impossible—you must forgive your grandfather."

He couldn't have knocked the wind more completely out of her if he'd put one of his meaty fists in her stomach. "F-forgive _Voldemort_?!"

"You must forgive those you have deemed unforgivable," the centaur reiterated. "Only in that course will you hold the key for that which you hope to bring about."

Meli stared at him. "You cannot be serious."

Bane made no further reply but instead looked to the others. There was another thundering of hooves, and by the time Meli had enough mastery of herself to move again, the centaurs were long gone.

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _sigh_ "The best-laid plans o' mice an' men gang oft agley"--and phone calls with mad writing collaborators can throw a bit of a wrench into things. Last night Snarky and I were attacked fiercely by the befanged, drooling Plot Bunny of Doom, with the result that the course we originally saw this story taking has taken a bit of an unanticipated turn. I have several chapters beyond this one written, but the ones coming after those are going to require a leetle more work than previously foreseen. The good news is that things are going to get very interesting pretty soon. I hope to keep posting regularly with minimal or no hiccups, but I thought it might be nice to warn you ahead of time that one or two might be coming.

g and Krew, thanks for the feedback; hope you continue to enjoy!

AE


	8. Pulcheria's

**Chapter 8: Pulcheria's  
**It was well past midnight when Meli emerged from the forest with a full rucksack and a fuller head. The centaurs had not reappeared during the several more hours she had spent foraging, and she had the bitter thought that even had they done, they wouldn't have made her reflections any easier.

What was Bane playing at, after all? She hadn't lived in her grandfather's house for twenty years; except for the seizures, most of the hurt he had caused her so long ago was faded, leaving the occasional ache of memory but nothing more. In spite of the facts of the matter, she had managed early on to split him into two people in her mind: her misguided but admittedly doting grandfather, and the evil and wretched Lord Voldemort who made her grandfather do things that he otherwise wouldn't. She had even managed similar splits with Snape and Zarekael for a time… until she had seen them do the horrific things that she associated with faceless and heartless Death Eaters.

She had squeezed her eyes shut against those blood-drenched memories and forced herself to concentrate on carefully wrapping a handful of moss before she put it in the rucksack.

That, unfortunately, had given her mind's eye an opportunity to return to an even fresher, more recent memory.

_Voldemort, wand drawn, with a mocking smile on his lips as he caught sight of the first advancing foe._  
ooo

"Phamelia," he purred, his red eyes flashing with, of all things, pride. "How you've grown, my dear."

Meli raised her own wand and narrowed her eyes. "You were a lot less pleased to see me a month ago."

"That, I must admit, was when I thought you were a disgrace and a disappointment. All of my careful rearing and training, and yet you made yourself my enemy." His smile thinned now into one that she recognized with horror and revulsion; it was a smile of approval. "Now, however, I see clearly that you really are my own flesh and blood, following in my very footsteps."

"I'm nothing like you!" she spat.

"Tsk, tsk," he chided. "I know it's you, my dear, who has been my undoing. Blood magic is such a peculiar thing. And so you have now done what I once did, at the very beginning of my rise to power. You wanted so badly to be nothing like me, my dear Phamelia… and yet, just as I did, you have murdered your own progenitor."

His smile broadened as Potter arrived behind her, and Snape and Zarekael materialized at their supposed master's side.

"I die happy," the Dark Lord said, and he drew himself up proudly to duel to boy destined to destroy him.

Meli wondered a few times what the forest's inhabitants must think of the strange woman who wandered about collecting things, muttering to herself, and occasionally crying. She decided just as often that she didn't care, but she also didn't want any questions when she returned to Hogwarts. Snape, she knew, was an insomniac and would probably be up working all night, and Dumbledore was notorious for turning up just when it was most inconvenient. She carefully wiped away all traces of tears and delayed going back until the redness in her eyes had faded to what could be attributed to an all-nighter in the forest.

Dumbledore, fortunately, did not make an appearance, but as expected, Snape was still up, grading papers. He looked up when she rapped at his open door, and if he thought she looked worse than she ought, he kept his mouth shut about it.

"I see you found a few things," he said coolly. They were on-script, then.

"One or two," she replied in a similar tone, tossing the rucksack on his desk. The things she'd collected for herself had already been moved to her pockets. "Along with a stray Acromantula. You couldn't wait until daylight for this rubbish?"

Snape smirked and laid his quill aside. "My dear Neshdiana," he said silkily, "daylight in the outer world has no effect on the deeper parts of the forest. You are as likely to come across an Acromantula at noon as at midnight. I should have thought that someone as clever as you would know that."

She gave him a weary glare. "If there's nothing more you require of me just now, _sir_, I'll take my leave and get some sleep."

"By all means. Sleep all day, for all I care. I don't call to mind that I'll require your presence until Monday." Snape offered a very convincing sneer. "I'm sure Poppy could find some way for you to make yourself useful tomorrow."

Meli sighed and left without a parting shot; even if she hadn't been playing a part, she was too exhausted to think of one. She stumbled up to her drafty, windowless rooms, fell face-first on the bed, and didn't move again until the following afternoon.

ooo

Pulcheria's, the listing said, was closed on Sundays, so Meli kept herself occupied by sneaking into the library to borrow (without asking) copies of _A Tale of Two Cities_ and _Our Mutual Friend_—anything to keep her mind off of the conversation with Bane. Monday morning she was up with the sun and walking back into the forest with another shopping list for Snape, which he had thoughtfully Spell-O taped to her door, along with a nasty note and some spending money, the previous day.

Once she had gone the better part of a mile in, she was past the school's anti-Apparition wards, as well as any curious eyes associated with the castle. She pulled up the hood on her robes, turned her wand on herself, muttered a few chosen words, and promptly Disapparated.

She appeared in a London alley near a rubbish heap, with no one but rats, a feral cat or two, and possibly a derelict to notice her arrival. Only then did she lower her hood to reveal a delicate-featured brunette with brown eyes. She looked around to get her bearings and then stepped out onto the pavement and turned in the general direction of Charing Cross.

Pulcheria's had a very narrow storefront that was nearly hidden even from magical eyes between two very large, very flashy women's clothing boutiques. It looked quite shabby in comparison, with dingy glass and a simple window placard identifying it as Pulcheria's Potion Supply, but the orderly shelves and counter that she glimpsed from the street seemed promising.

It was a dusty, absurd island in a sea of modern Muggle flash, and Meli loved it immediately.

A tiny bell rang over the door when she walked in, and the proprietor, who was seated behind the counter, looked up—and Meli's breath froze in her lungs.

Tinúviel Everett had been in Snape's House and year at Hogwarts… and in Meli's timeline, she had been dead for the better part of twenty years. Her father, driven mad by advanced Myrddin's Syndrome, had attacked her with a carving knife and then spent the rest of his life in Azkaban for it.

_Apparently more things have changed than just Severus' heritage_, she thought numbly, forcing herself ot smile as naturally as possible at the very alive-and-well Tinúviel.

"Good morning," the proprietor said, smiling and running a hand through her blonde hair.

"Good morning," Meli replied. "How are you?" _Apart from alive, of course._

"Quite well, thank you." She raised her eyebrows. "Can I help you find anything in particular today?"

Meli cleared her throat and forced herself to concentrate on the conversation rather than the ghost in front of her. "Well, I did have a question, actually. I'm in need of a handful of items, but I haven't much money at the moment—I've only just started working again. Are you willing to trade, or ought I to come back when I've been paid?"

Tinúviel looked her over with a sharp eye. "I'm prepared to trade when I can be sure of receiving at least as good as what I give. And in the case of an imbalance in my favor, I'm prepared to pay a supplier's fee."

Meli didn't bother to hide her surprise; she had hoped for honest dealing, of course, but to be paid on top of it was a prospect she hadn't entertained.

Tinúviel saw the look on her face and laughed out loud. "I like the look of you," she said by way of explanation. "And apart from that, you don't appear to be the sort who would bring in marsh grass and midge's wings in hopes of earning a king's ransom."

Meli smiled in spite of herself. "No, I should hope I'm a _little _wiser than that." She bit her lip. "But before you enter into any business arrangement with me, it's only fair that you know what I'm hoping to trade _for_."

The other woman raised her eyebrows. "All right…"

Without another word, Meli handed over her list and waited, hardly knowing what she should expect. The Tinúviel Everett she had known had been a Death Eater of dubious loyalty—a constant companion of Severus Snape before his own loyalty wavered, but with something about her that had simply felt _off_. Something from Meli's upbringing had made her sensitive to Dark Marks, as well as to the motives of those who bore them, and Tinúviel's had been different, as Snape's was different now. It had explained quite a lot when Dumbledore had finally told her that Tinúviel had been one of his spies.

This Tinúviel, however, had no Dark Mark that Meli could sense, which meant that she was neither Death Eater nor spy but instead either a straight-shooter or a Voldemort loyalist who found it expedient to pose as a straight-shooter. In either case, she might draw a wrong conclusion from Meli's list, which could be problematic later on. It was also possible that she might laugh off Meli's perception of her scruples—or she might call in the Aurors, even though there was nothing strictly illegal on the list.

"I can understand your concerns," Tinúviel said quietly, looking up. "A magical strain of epilepsy, is it?"

Meli stared at her, simultaneously intrigued and alarmed. She had never heard of any kind of magical epilepsy apart from her own…. "How could you—?"

"Not one of these ingredients has above a half-dozen uses. The only two they have in common are pain relief and controlling certain forms of tremors." Tinúviel shrugged. "Now, either you're planning to handle multiple Cruciatus victims—which seems a bit precipitous under present circumstances, unless you're performing illegal experiments, which I also doubt—or you're preparing instead to treat a _gran mal_ seizure that manifests the same symptoms produced by the Cruciatus. Dervishism and Kroller's Condition _are_ rare, but they do occur, sometimes with enough violence to incapacitate for days afterward." She shook her head. "That you're bartering suggests that you don't come in behalf of an employer, which likewise suggests to me that you need this for yourself or for someone in your family.

Meli blinked a few times before nodding slowly. "I… suppose that stands to reason."

"And fortunately, I have all of these on hand," Tinúviel continued, "and no objection to selling them to you." She smiled. "Shall we talk business, then?"

Meli nodded her agreement and proceeded to empty out her pockets without further comment. Tinúviel carefully looked over the ten or so packets she laid out, both the labels and the contents, then looked up again with her eyebrows nearly at her hairline.

"This is an impressive collection," she said. "Did you gather all of these yourself?"

"I did." Meli shrugged. "I can't take full credit, of course; a friend taught me where and how to find most of it."

"Nevertheless." Tinúviel shook her head wonderingly and brought a scale out from under the counter. "I'll have a precise number for you presently, but I would estimate that you'll have your full shopping list plus ten Galleons from this."

Meli forced herself not to react, but it was hard work. She'd known that a few of the items were valuable; she'd had no idea of them being _that_ valuable, though. Still, there was no sense in showing her ignorance of the facts when there was money on the line.

ooo

Tinúviel wasted no time in tallying Meli's order against her capital, and in the end, Meli came out of it with not ten but twelve Galleons and a few odd Sickles and Knuts in her pocket.

"Are you in a position to go on collecting these things?" the herbalist asked as she wrapped up Meli's parcels.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I know you mentioned that you have a job," Tinúviel said, "but if you'd like to pick up a bit of extra money, I would be glad to have you as a supplier."

This was something Meli had hoped for, but she still blinked in genuine surprise. "Really?"

"Truly." Tinúviel extended a hand. "My name is Tinúviel Everett."

"Bella Harmon," Meli replied, shaking the proffered hand. "If you don't mind my asking… who is Pulcheria?"

Tinúviel offered a sober smile. "Pulcheria was my mother. She opened this shop before I was born and all but brought me up in it." She shrugged. "Potions and brewing are her legacy and my inheritance."

"It's an excellent legacy to leave," Meli said quietly, with a tiny smile.

"I've always thought so."

ooo

Meli stopped briefly in a dark alley after leaving Pulcheria's, just long enough to lower her _glamourie_, and then went on to the Diagon Alley herbalist specified in Snape's note, where she bought a veritable laundry list of things. She highly doubted that his classroom stores were that seriously depleted, either by young Crouch or by the students, which led her to conclude that he must be stocking up on certain supplies—not that she had any intention of asking him to confirm that. He believed, then, that war was indeed brewing, and he meant to be ready for it.

It also occurred to her that he wouldn't want to be seen and therefore known to be stocking up if he could help it, which meant that he really would be happy enough to have her running his errands for him.

Well, if it got her off-campus long enough to run her own errands, she wasn't about to object.

She bought a second-hand cauldron with some of the money from Tinúviel and then Apparated back to the forest, where she paused only long enough to shrink the cauldron and hide it in a pocket to avoid it being noticed. Dumbledore hadn't forbidden potions-brewing, but she also had the feeling that he wouldn't want her doing it without close observation.

She arrived back at her rooms to find a house elf tidying up and generally making a nuisance of itself.

"Can I help you?" she asked, which made the creature jump three feet in the air with a terrified squeak. Meli sighed and prepared herself for the nagging headache that was almost certainly on the horizon.

"Kwippy is sorry!" the house elf squealed, coming in for a rough landing on the desk. "She is not always being so skittish!"

Meli blinked several times, first trying to remember if she had ever heard a normal house elf use the term _skittish_ and then trying to place the voice. She was almost positive that she'd never encountered a house elf named Kwippy, but there was something familiar about the voice and the pale blue eyes—

She closed her own eyes and thought she might actually cry. With no wealthy House of Snape to serve, there were no Snape house elves, but it made sense that at least some of them might still exist, without certain benefits that they'd had in her timeline.

Kwippy was the counterpart of Lavinia, the brilliant and rather twisted housekeeper at Snape Manor.

_How radically things have changed_, Meli thought, feeling homesickness and an almost unbearable pity for the house elf in front of her.

"You're all right, Kwippy," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to startle you." She cleared her throat. "I'm Neshdiana."

"Yes, miss," Kwippy replied. "Professor Dumbledore is telling us so." She looked a little hesitant. "Is… Miss Neshdiana hungry?"

Meli smiled in spite of herself. "I could eat—if it's not too much trouble for you?"

Kwippy's eyes went wide and her ears fell back in a wonderment that pained Meli to see. "We isn't troubling ourselves to be making lunch for everyone. No one is ever asking if Kwippy is troubled with working."

"Well, I know you must have a lot to do, and better things to do than hanging about to wait on me hand and foot."

"It is never troubling Kwippy to be useful." The house elf smiled suddenly. "Is Miss Neshdiana wanting beef or ham or turkey?"

Meli blinked in surprise. "Er… beef?"

"Kwippy is returning soon! And with that semi-warning, she popped out of existence.

Meli barely had time to shake her head over it before Kwippy was back, along with a tray piled high. There were two sandwiches, a tureen of soup, a pitcher of pumpkin juice, and what looked like a small mountain of chocolate mousse.

"I think you've brought me enough for dinner, too, as well as breakfast tomorrow," she said dryly. "Thank you."

Kwippy grinned proudly and bowed. "Miss Neshdiana is welcome."

Meli glanced dubiously at the chocolate mousse, which she was sure she could smell across the room. Kwippy, as a typical house elf, would be shattered if she didn't eat at least part of it, but even for the sake of such a pitiable creature, she didn't think she could manage it.

Inspiration, fortunately, struck. In one respect, at least, she was pretty sure that Kwippy was the Lavinia she'd known.

"I couldn't possibly eat all of this," she said. "Would you like a bit of it?"

Kwippy did the wide-eyed shocked-puppy look again. "But… but it is Miss Neshdiana's food."

"And you did such a splendid job of it that I want to share it with you." Meli crossed the room and picked up a spoon to stir through the mousse. "If you'd like, I could eat the sandwiches and soup, and you can have this—then you're not eating my food, do you see?"

Kwippy's nose twitched, and Meli know she'd been right; whatever her name, this house elf had a serious weakness for chocolate. "But it is _meant_ for Miss Neshdiana…" The protest was half-hearted, at best.

"And I may do with it as I please, then." Meli smiled. "And it pleases me to give it to you, Kwippy."

Tears welled up in Kwippy's eyes, and Meli handed over the spoon, thinking that it was just as well that she could never go home.

She didn't think she could ever have faced Lavinia again after this.


	9. Ariel Academy

**Chapter 9: Ariel Academy  
**Meli waited until after Snape's final class of the day to stop by his office and drop off his latest bag of goodies, along with the whole four Knuts' change that remained from what he'd given her. He was as terse as he'd been on Saturday and told her to come back the following afternoon.

"Longbottom and his ilk ought to have created some work for you by then," he sneered. "And if not, I'm sure I'll have come up with another assignment making use of your hunter-gatherer skills."

Meli snorted and rolled her eyes but left him to sort through what she'd brought.

On returning to her rooms, she summoned Kwippy, who was well on her way to being willing to go to the ends of the earth for "Miss Neshdiana".

"I have a strange request for you," Meli said, "but I promise you, there's a very good reason for it." When the house elf nodded solemnly, she continued, "I need you _not_ to clean out the wardrobe."

Kwippy's eyes went wide. "Not—not _ever_?" she squeaked.

"Well, not for a week or so, anyway," Meli replied. "I'll keep it as tidy as I can during that time, and I'll let you know for certain when it's all right… but _could_ you do that for me?"

Kwippy gulped. "If Miss Neshdiana is saying it is a good reason… Kwippy is trusting Miss Neshdiana. But please, if it is being _too_ dirty, _please_ be letting Kwippy to clean it!"

"I won't let it go out of control," Meli promised. "You have my word. And please—don't tell anyone I've asked it of you."

The house elf shook her head frantically. "Kwippy is telling no one. What is people thinking of a house elf not cleaning the wardrobe!"

Meli didn't know how best to answer that, so instead she smiled. "Thank you, Kwippy."

Once Kwippy had gone again, she went to work fire-proofing the wardrobe and starting up the first of four potions in the bottom of it. She could only imagine what poor Kwippy would think, but it was best, she thought, not to find out for sure.

ooo

She had initially planned on contacting the Fell twins first, but after the shock of seeing Tinúviel Everett alive and well, she thought better of it. After all, Crim and Collum were meant to be dead, too, and unlike Tinúviel, she had _seen_ both of their bodies—within the past three years. She wasn't sure she wanted a triple-whammy right from the off.

That meant contacting Andrea Underhill first, and when a quick check of her watch and a time-conversion told her that it was mid-morning in New England, she decided that there was no time like the present to make a start. She got her potion simmering, grabbed her rucksack, and slipped out of the castle for the second time that day.

According to Avallach's information, Andrea had exactly the same job in this timeline as in Meli's, with one minor, temporary, difference. She was still with the Aurors' Division of the FBI, but she was out of the field for a fortnight so that she could guest-lecture at Ariel Academy, one of the three American schools for wizards. That was a bit of luck for Meli, who could probably have found a way to contact her otherwise but who would have an easier time getting through security to contact her at the school.

She chose a new _glamourie_ then Apparated from the Forbidden Forest to a much different forest at the edge of Reglan, a Squib community not far from Ariel. She had been to the town a few times, but she had never ventured as far as the school; it took her twice as long now as she felt it should to get there on foot, and even when she came to it, she wasn't sure what she was looking at.

America had been settled after feudalism's fading, and it consequently was lacking in proper castles. The builders of Ariel, while inspired by Hogwarts in other respects, hadn't even attempted to recreate its architecture but had instead chosen to employ a style all their own. The result looked like a crack-head's attempt at a Thomas Kincaid cottage with a little of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre thrown in to make it more interesting. Like the Globe, it was daub-and-wattle and built in what was meant to be a circle but came nearer to a lopsided oval, with an aimless line shooting off on one side. It was thatched with straw, like a Kincaid cottage, and painted a rosy, peachy color that made it look like it stood in a perpetual sunset.

Meli stared at it and found herself wondering… If _this_ was supposed to be the snobby prep-school of the three American institutions, what must the rustic Propspero and the supposed ghetto Tres Brujas look like?

"Can I help you?"

She jumped in surprise and whirled to find a very amused gentleman standing next to her. He was her age or a little younger, with curly dark brown hair, penetrating blue eyes, and a face that belonged to a Michelangelo statue. He also wore a professor's robes and a silver badge that read "ARD—Serpencoil Hall".

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, laying on a thick American accent and tucking a bright red curl behind her ear. "I was just trying to figure out which way to the front office."

He raised his eyebrows. "I can show you, if you'd like."

She smiled. "That'd be great—thanks."

He held out a hand. "I'm David Kalimac, by the way—Potions teacher and Assistant RD for Serpencoil." Judging by the light flicker in his eyes, he was more interested in knowing who Meli was than in telling her anything about himself.

_Which tells me that Serpencoil Hall is probably Ariel's equivalent to Slytherin House_. Meli smiled again. "Ailsa Sable," she replied, shaking his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you."

Kalimac nodded and started walking towards the monstrosity of a building. "So I take it you didn't attend Ariel," he said casually.

"No—I was home-schooled. My dad was stationed in Germany, and my mom didn't like the European schools… and both my parents both said America was too far away."

He darted a narrow look at her. "So your father's in the military?"

Meli nodded. "Was. He got wounded during Desert Storm." She offered a quirked smile. "Now he spends most of his time gardening."

Kalimac shook his head and let out a low whistle. "That's rough."

"That's life—so he says, anyway." She shrugged. "You do what you can with what you have where you are."

"So Teddy Roosevelt said." He opened a random door that by rights should have been an emergency exit or a stairwell access, but it opened up into a wide, brightly-lit lobby as haphazardly shaped as the school itself was. He caught the look on her face and let out a short laugh. "If you'd gone through what looked like the main entrance, you'd have ended up in the cellar."

Meli stared at him. "Was the architect that whimsical?"

"No… but the school itself is." He shrugged. "Something went funny with the first well they dug, and then when they ran pipes through for modern plumbing, the whole building just went nutty."

Andrea had mentioned the well, Meli recalled—something about it causing faucets to talk and toilets (given provocation) to clog dance. She hadn't said anything about the building itself developing a sense of humor, but it wasn't too much of a stretch.

Kalimac, meanwhile, motioned toward a door that ought to be for a janitor's closet. "That's the office there."

Meli smirked and shook her head. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

ooo

As soon as she'd heard that the front door led to the cellar, Meli had abandoned any hope of finding Andrea without going through proper channels and possibly hiring a native guide, as well. She spoke with the front-office secretary (a perky, smiling middle-aged Squib named Rose, who used a bona fide typewriter) about the possibility of setting up a lunch-time meeting with Andrea Underhill. Rose was happy to oblige, typing up a memo, folding it neatly into a paper airplane, and flicking it into the nearest cold-air vent. The answer came back surprisingly fast, given (Meli thought) that Andrea must still be in class.

Rose read the reply and looked slightly less perky. "She'd like to know your name and how you know her."

Knowing Andrea, the original wording was probably less polite. "My name is Ailsa Sable," Meli said. "I don't expect her to remember me, but I was a fan of Charmin's Marmots."

Rose, to judge by her expression, had a sneaking suspicion that Meli was a nut job, but she obligingly typed it out, pausing only to request a spelling of the last two words.

Andrea's reply came even faster this time, and Meli thought that Rose looked ready to faint from the surprise.

"You've certainly got her attention," the secretary murmured. "Do you mind if I ask…?"

Meli grinned. "Charmin's Marmots was a rock band that a handful of her classmates at college started up. All of their songs were lyrical butcheries of other songs." Her personal favorite had been "My Marmoset", which had done unspeakable things to Joy Electric's "Monosyth"; Andrea had preferred "I Just Wahoo When I Get My Spam"—which Goo Goo Dolls fans recognized as a tortured rendition of "Iris".

Rose didn't appear at all revived by the answer. "Well… Ms. Underhill has a planning period starting in ten minutes. She'd very much like to see you in the Defense classroom."

"Ah." Meli cleared her throat and hoped she didn't look _too_ stupid. "And… which way is that?"

"I'll take her, Rose."

Meli checked herself mid-jump and decided that David Kalimac was _really_ starting to get on her nerves. She turned smoothly to face him. "Mr. Kalimac. I didn't hear you come in."

He gave her a shrewd little smile and laid a piece of parchment in Rose's inbox. "You left the door open." He flicked his eyes to the secretary. "Third hour attendance."

Rose glanced over it and clucked disapprovingly. "_All three_ absent again?"

Kalimac shrugged. "Dragonhelm seniors, Rose—it happens every year leading up to finals. They get lazy, they assume we will, too. Send off letters to their parents. I'll put letters in their files, for all the good it'll do at this point. Other than that…"

Rose sighed. "Those boys."

Kalimac shrugged again and turned to Meli. "Shall we?" He offered her a smile that was more friendly than not.

"Sure."

They were silent until well out of Rose's hearing, at which point he glanced over at her with a smirk. "I'm not the enemy, you know."

Meli snorted. "Who said anything about enemies?"

"Well, you definitely don't seem inclined to think of me as a friend."

"I've only just met you, Mr. Kalimac. I don't see that friendship's on the table at the moment."

"Do you think it ever will be?"

Meli looked up at him to find a spark of mischief in his eyes. "You seem awfully keen on our being friends."

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, I have to admit, Miss Sable, you're a very interesting person so far, and there aren't nearly enough interesting people around here."

"How fortunate, then, that you have such an interesting building to make up the deficiency."

Kalimac smirked again but said nothing further, turning down a hallway marked "Laundry and Cafeteria", which was lined with open doors through which she glimpsed what were unmistakably classrooms.

"The laundry room is two floors up on the other side of the building, I suppose?"

Kalimac's smirk widened to a grin. "That's the cafeteria, actually; the laundry room's where the cellar should be."

"I'm not sure if I find it more comforting or disturbing that I was half right." Meli sighed and shook her head, just as a loud bell rang down the length of the hallway, followed by the sounds of a mass mad scramble familiar to all teachers; the class period had just ended.

"Here's the Defense room," Kalimac said, stopping just short of the doorway to avoid a stampede of students who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen years old. All of them wore black robes over street clothes, with silver bands at the wrists; some of the bands were interlaced with sapphire blue, the rest with emerald green.

Meli nearly started when, halfway through the stream of students, she felt an eerie tapping up her spine, as if a kitten was somehow walking up her back. It was the same sense she had around Snape—the presence of a Dark brand with no loyalty to the master of it.

She flicked her eyes through the crowd and found its source almost immediately: a pale girl with black hair and black eyes, wearing a white dress under her green-and-silver banded robe. She was fifteen years old, made no attempt to hide her telltale fangs… and Meli knew her very well.

The girl glanced her way but had no reason to make any kind of eye contact. Someone called her name, and she turned away to disappear into the crowded hallway without a second look at the redheaded stranger.

_How interesting,_ Meli thought, a not-entirely-pleasant thrill running through her, _that Avallach told me everything about Andrea but never mentioned even the existence of Raven Vlad. I wonder what, if anything, that signifies._

She was suddenly aware of David Kalimac's eye on her.

"Must be kind of weird, seeing a vampire openly taking classes with human students, huh?"

_You have no idea._ "Is it… _common_ here?" she asked, although she had a good idea of the answer, assuming that things were similar in this timeline.

"There may or may not be more vampires in America than in, say, Germany," he replied, "but they're more inclined to speak up and demand their rights here. And when enough vampires demand equal rights to education, we at least have to come to some agreement with them. Mostly it's just members of the Vlad clan, so at any given time you won't have more than twenty between the three schools, and they mind their Ps and Qs pretty well."

She noted that he'd made no mention of self-regulating factors within the student body that might motivate the Vlads to stay out of trouble—the most compelling of which was the presence of even more students from the Underhill-Heathertoes Wizarding family, which turned out a greater-than-average number of Aurors and Slayers. There was no reason to say anything about it, on either his side or (especially) hers, and every reason not to, really.

Once the tide of students had finished its outward sweep, Kalimac led the way into the classroom, where Andrea Underhill stood waiting for them.

The Auror was tall and trim, with insanely tight spring curls kept mostly under control with a combination of gel and hair pins, and clear brown eyes flashing with challenge. She relaxed visibly, though not completely, when she saw Kalimac, but she didn't manage to scrounge up a smile for either him or Meli.

"Andrea," Kalimac said, giving a convincing appearance of not noticing her combative stance, "this is Ailsa Sable."

Andrea's eyes flicked to Meli and back. "Friend of yours, David?"

He glanced at Meli and didn't bother hiding a smile. "Not yet, apparently."

Meli closed her eyes and counted ten. Informing Kalimac that he was an infuriating jerk was not the best way to diffuse the situation with Andrea and would only distract her from the actual purpose of her visit.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Andrea had quirked an amused eyebrow at Kalimac, who smirked, murmured something about grading papers and tossing a wombat in a cauldron, and made a graceful exit.

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Some pronunciation notes, in case anyone was wondering:  
Meli- MEH-lee  
Neshdiana- NEHSH-dee-AH-nah  
Ailsa- EYL(as in _eye_ + l)-szah  
Zarekael- ZAHR-eh-kale  
Kalimac- KAL(as in _Cal_ifornia)-ih-mack

Also, excesivelyperky and ,oo, thank you for your kind reviews. I'm glad to know that Meli doesn't come across as a Mary Sue; I think I'd have to buy a couple of cases of PBR (_shudder_) and drink myself out of the guilt that would bring on. And with regard to the befanged plot bunny… _sigh_. Yes, it'll be a better story, but a much bloodier one than previously anticipated; some plot bunnies can be rather sadistic. Good thing the M-rating's already in place, I s'pose…  
AE


	10. Andrea Underhill

**Chapter 10: Andrea Underhill  
**The Auror's wand came out in Kalimac's wake, but before Meli could react, Andrea had flicked it to close the door, had cast two or three secrecy charms, and had put it away again. Ironically, this was a slight improvement over their first conversation in Meli's timeline, which had been conducted with Andrea's wand about an inch from her nose.

"So." Andrea raised her eyebrows. "What I've got so far is that you think David's annoying, he believes you're trustworthy, and somehow you know about a band that I'm starting to think you have no way of knowing about. Have I got it right so far?"

"Admirably so," Meli replied, abandoning the American accent and smiling in spite of herself. "I do apologize for dropping in out of the blue and with no warning at all, but… well, it's rather a complicated story."

Andrea nodded. "Yeah, I'll buy that. Go ahead and hit me with the short version." Her tone suggested that she was willing to hear Meli out but that she was so far undecided on the matter of trust—exactly as expected.

Meli sighed. "The short version, then. I will say as a preface that, should you wish at any time to go over any or all of it with the assistance of a Truth Potion, I am quite at your disposal."

The Auror's eyes widened, but Meli didn't wait for a verbal response. "Assuming that you, like the counterpart I knew, are familiar with certain concepts that blur the lines between science and fiction, you will hopefully understand the idea of parallel universes?"

"You're talking about alternate timelines."

Meli nodded. "A full explanation of _how_ is part of the more complicated version. Let it suffice for now that I was brought from an alternate timeline to this one, for a specific purpose, and that purpose is apparently to set right a handful of things that are about to go wrong."

"Things involving me?"

"Not directly." Meli cleared her throat and smiled apologetically. "Things involving a certain Dark Wizard whose name is almost never uttered."

Andrea's eyes widened further and she leaned her head back slightly as if to evaluate Meli from a different angle. "Word on the street is that he's dead."

"And that word has become progressively less convincing over the past three years or so." Meli raised her eyebrows. "Particularly among inherently skeptical individuals who know very well how difficult immortality-obsessed creatures are to render mortal, and who know enough to suspect unpleasant connections between an incident involving the Philosopher's Stone and the reported opening of the Chamber of Secrets mere months later."

Andrea shrugged, but Meli knew her mannerisms well enough to see that the motion covered a flinch. "British problems."

"Mounting British problems," Meli countered, "which are about to culminate in a _very _big British problem, which, if not checked at an early stage, could quickly become an international problem."

"Which means, I take it, that he's coming back."

"Yes."

Andrea took a deep breath but didn't appear convinced. "So why tell me, of all people? You _do_ have Aurors in the U.K., you know—hell, why not talk to Albus Dumbledore? He's supposed to be some kind of muckety-muck. Anyone but me comes to mind."

Meli smiled tightly. "The British Aurors, unfortunately, are under the authority of the Minister of Magic, who is a power-loving fool, and who would be more likely to toss _me_ into Azkaban than to investigate my warning. And as for Dumbledore, I _have_ told him… and I haven't found him to be someone I would trust, say, to the end of the world. That means finding other resources and hopefully forming alliances with people I _do_ trust."

Now the Auror looked amused. "And I made the A-list, did I?"

"You did," Meli replied. "In my native timeline, you and I were roommates at university for four years, which, by the way, is how I know about Charmin's Marmots. I was, shall we say, profoundly affected by a certain Dark Wizard's first rising, and through your friendship with me, you became acquainted with more details than most Americans have access to. I, through the same friendship, learned a great deal about the Vlad family and their own peculiar version of Death Eaters—the Impalers. Consequently, when things came to a head in later years, we were both pulled in, on both fronts." She met Andrea's eye and sighed. "Knowing that, can you wonder why I might think to come to you?"

"I guess not, when you put it that way." Andrea arched an eyebrow. "Apart from Charmin's Marmots, though, you haven't really said much to impress me with regard to you knowing me. Everyone knows about the Underhills and Vlads, and even the Impalers are common enough knowledge."

Meli nodded. "Fair enough. What's much less widely known is that you have a young cousin named Eddie Heathertoes, who shares both your weird obsession with Bon Jovi and Def Leppard _and_ your killer instinct. If he shows any magical ability at all, he'll be a shoo-in for the Auror-training academy at Blackwing University, and he'll likely follow in his father's footsteps to become a much-decorated Slayer." She offered a sympathetic smile. "So far, though, by the age of nine, he's shown no sign of being a wizard. No one in the family is ashamed for him, but _you_ are disappointed for him and have so far taken it the hardest of anyone."

Andrea had gone pale during this recitation, and by the end of it she was almost shaking. "No one outside the family knows that," she breathed. "_How_—?"

"I knew Eddie," Meli replied. "And I certainly knew you—or rather your counterpart."

Andrea shook her head. "I never knew yours."

"I don't have one," Meli said grimly. "And for that, I'm very grateful."

"Okay." Andrea took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So obviously you know me well enough to say I'm trustworthy. At the moment anyway, I'm leaning towards trusting you. What exactly is it that you're trying to recruit me for?"

"As I said before, there are certain things that are meant to take a different course from what they will do if left to themselves." Meli smiled sardonically. "Unfortunately, there's no possible way for me to bring about those changes on my own, and as I mentioned, I don't find Dumbledore to be as trustworthy an ally as I could hope for. What's really necessary at this point is a small group of people who can plan and strategize and, when necessary, implement those plans."

"Who else is on board?"

Meli cleared her throat. "You're the first I've spoken with, actually. There are two others I'm hoping for, but I haven't had the chance to approach them yet."

She could see the wheels turning in Andrea's head and imagined she heard the steady whirs and clicks of ideas piecing themselves together. Andrea, she remembered anew, was the equivalent of an extreme Ravenclaw, possibly cross-bred with a Cray computer. She was the only person Meli had ever met who might have been able to out-analyze and out-strategize Zarekael—to the degree that the two had at one point been simultaneously planning one another's untimely demise on the mistaken understanding of who was on what side in relation to Voldemort.

"Actually, I think I'm the second you've spoken to, though you may not realize it yet."

Meli blinked. "Sorry?"

Andrea grinned. "I'm on board—this is too crazy a boat to miss out on—but there's another trustworthy resource that I think would be a _great _asset."

There was a quirky smirk playing at one corner of Andrea's mouth, and Meli wondered just how much she was going to regret asking the inevitable question. "And just who might that be?"

The smirk widened alarmingly. "David Kalimac—the only person guaranteed to beat me at chess every time."

Meli narrowed her eyes and resisted the urge to grind her teeth. "I see."

"At the risk of sounding like a teacher… He only teases you because he likes you, you know."

"Andrea, you're _not_ helping!" Meli spouted, forgetting for just a moment that this wasn't her old friend of more than ten years.

The Auror shrugged and shook her head. "All the same, he'd be a huge help to the cause."

Meli rolled her eyes. "Fine. On two conditions."

Andrea raised her eyebrows.

"First, _you_ talk to him about it." She narrowed her eyes. "And secondly, keep him out of my hair."

"First one's easy enough," Andrea allowed. "But I think he likes redheads."

"How fortunate, then than my natural hair color is black," Meli replied sourly. "I think I'll go back to it at once."

For some reason, that only made Andrea's grin widen.

ooo

Ailsa Sable (if that _was_ her real name) had to get back to wherever it was that she'd come from, and Andrea went back to teaching shortly after. Between classes and irritating teacher duties, it was late afternoon before she had a chance to track down David. She found him Scourgifying a table-full of horribly abused cauldrons.

"Do I want to ask?" she said.

He looked up with a glower. "Dragonhelm-Turtletuft juniors," he muttered. "Days like this and students like that pretty much convince me I should quit."

"Don't take it personally," Andrea advised dryly. "They're the same way with me, and I'm just a sub. I think they just have it in for the Serpencoil and Eaglewing teachers."

"Which would be so much more worth it if _we'd_ treated 'em like crap first." The charm he leveled at the next cauldron in line was so forceful that the thing somersaulted off of the table to land with a sick-sounding thud on the wood-planked floor. "Maybe I should start."

Andrea snorted. "Well, I do have one bit of good news for you."

Davit gave her a weary glare. "Andrea, so help me, if you tell me you just saved a bundle on car insurance by switching to Geico—"

"Nothing so entertaining," she assured him. "At least, I don't _think_ so."

"Okay…"

She raised her eyebrows. "First of all, _just _in case it matters, Ailsa Sable's natural hair color is actually black, not red." When his only response was a deepening of his glare, she shrugged and went on, "And second of all, she had a very interesting offer for both of us."

"Meaning you convinced her to cut me in on it."

Andrea didn't bother trying to look innocent. "Believe me, it's right up your alley. Feel like getting away from those cauldrons for an hour and having a cup of coffee?"

David eyed her shrewdly before nodding. "Sure."

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** excessivelyperky, PBR is short for Pabst Blue Ribbon, which is to my knowledge the cheapest, closest-to-tasteless beer anyone will admit to consuming under any circumstances. Given that my idea of a "light" beer is Harp Lager and my preferred poison is 90 Shilling or Leinie's Creamy Dark, downing two cases of PBR would amount for me to a torture approaching the Cruciatus. Thus, I'm very glad Meli doesn't come across as a Mary Sue. )  
AE


	11. Keeping Up Appearances

**Chapter 11: Keeping Up Appearances  
**On returning to the Forbidden Forest, Meli canceled her _glamourie_ and spent an hour or so foraging for various things that Snape would find useful; it wouldn't do to go back with an empty rucksack after a three-hour absence, after all.

It was past dinner time when she got back to her rooms, but Kwippy was happy to bring a tray of food—especially when "Miss Neshdiana" rewarded her with one of the chocolate biscuits inhabiting the tray. Mindful of setting a noticeable pattern, Meli waited until after the house elf was gone, after which she wrapped up two of the biscuits in a napkin and hid them in the wardrobe until she could dispose of them more permanently later on.

The potion in the bottom of the wardrobe was coming along fairly well. She stirred in a handful of porcupine quills, waited until the brew faded to a pale blue, and then moved on to other occupations—or rather, tried to. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to do, unless she wanted to sneak into the library again or go to visit Poppy. She supposed she could take the rucksack to Snape, but that didn't seem to be the best move when he'd told her less than five hours earlier to go away until the following afternoon.

It was odd that unoccupied solitude should bother her so much. Two years ago, she'd hit the ground running as soon as she had been released from the hospital wing following her supposed death, and with few exceptions, she hadn't slowed down, much less stopped, since then. By rights, she should be luxuriating in the freedom to do nothing and be beholden to no one for a few hours.

Except that she'd never really liked complete solitude. Even when she'd been separated from friends for a length of time, she'd always had the company of a familiar, and Alfred, her indispensable house elf sidekick, had never been far away.

Meli smiled bitterly. If Alfred was even around, he probably had a name like Flopsy and would be more pitiable than morbid—something which actually somehow saddened her. And given that the only animals for which she had any affinity were snakes, a familiar was out of the question for the foreseeable future. There was no way in hell she'd give Dumbledore any reason to speculate again about just how far the fruit hadn't fallen from the tree, and she had no intention of creating an opportunity to accidentally give herself away as a Parseltongue.

That reminded her of her first meeting with Andrea Underhill twelve years before. Not knowing that her roommate at a Muggle university was a witch, she'd spoken without thinking to her pet rattlesnake—and had a wand pointed at her nose inside of three seconds.

It was easy to smile at now… just as she supposed she might someday be able to smile at some aspects of her second first meeting with Andrea today.

That, of course, introduced the most irritating of those aspects, who came along as an unfortunate package deal with Andrea—the smart-aleck caboose named David Kalimac.

Meli sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed at her eyes. From a purely Utilitarian standpoint, she had to agree with the Auror's argument, since Andrea knew him better. If it was true that he could out-think and out-play Andrea Underhill on the chess board, he might be an asset in the area of strategy—although, given what she'd seen of Ron Weasley's actions in life as compared to his chess-playing, she wasn't prepared to assume that David Kalimac was a smart man strictly on that basis. Beyond Andrea's endorsement, though, she had to admit that it couldn't hurt to have another potions brewer (one more qualified than she was, moreover) and some more Slytherin blood in the coalition. And if Andrea, whom she knew was trustworthy, was willing to vouch for him, she had to allow that he was probably trustworthy, as well.

So, then. From a purely Utilitarian standpoint, there was no reason _not_ to include him, and there were several reasons not to rule him out. Now if only she could keep a handle on the Utilitarian perspective, without letting her personal irritation interfere and muck it up.

It occurred to her then that if her once-upon-a-time Hufflepuff students could see her now and realize that their unfeeling bitch of a Defense teacher was wrestling with any kind of human feeling whatsoever, they would be in stitches on the floor. That, predictably, did not improve her mood.

Moving on, then—because the alternative was too annoying to contemplate. Even if she'd felt quite up to contacting Crimson Fell at the moment, it was late enough in the evening that she probably couldn't. As far as life at Hogwarts went, she was due in the Potions room after classes the following afternoon, and in the meantime, she didn't want to leave the castle again unless Snape sent her; she didn't want to set a noticeable pattern in that respect, either, particularly when she knew that Dumbledore was probably watching.

That meant either keeping to her rooms (which could also draw the attention and suspicions of the twinkly-eyed headmaster) or finding other occupations within the castle, which again brought her to the choice between Poppy and the library.

With a resigned sigh, she got up and left her rooms again, this time heading in the direction of the hospital wing.

ooo

Poppy didn't mind having Meli about and was even willing to let her help with some of the lighter work like folding newly-cleaned linens. She had a few uncharitable comments about Snape's indirect suggestion that Meli could clean out the bedpans (which, in the interest of keeping up appearances, Meli had thought it good to mention) and refused even to consider assigning the chore to anyone but a student serving detention. Mostly it seemed that she wanted to chat, and it occurred to Meli more than once that Poppy might be making a point of being friendly to a visitor who had so far (in theory) been slighted and alienated by the only others who knew about her.

This impression strengthened when, at the end of the evening, Poppy invited her to come back the following morning.

"It might be best for you to keep to the office and out of sight," the mediwitch said apologetically, "but I think we can find something to keep you from being too terribly bored."

Meli offered a smile. "Barring a short-notice errand for Professor Snape, I'll be both able and glad to come."

It amused her, really, that Poppy was _so_ friendly and accommodating. In her own timeline, she, Snape, and Zarekael had all but made a formal sport of dodging medical care or, failing that, sneaking or faking their way out of the hospital wing as soon as possible. They had all looked on Poppy as a friend… but her zeal for total health and complete recovery came into conflict more often than not with the spies' job requirements, and when that happened, she also became an adversary. The most notorious battle Meli had witnessed had been touched off by Zarekael answering a summons from Voldemort mere hours after emerging from a life-threatening coma—aided and abetted by Snape, who had smuggled an illegal portkey in under Poppy's nose.

She couldn't quite wrap her head around the fact that this Poppy had no corresponding history with her. As strange as it was, though, she found that she rather liked being able to talk with the mediwitch _without_ trying simultaneously to outmaneuver her.

ooo

There was no note on her door, either that night or the following morning, so she spent a few more pleasant hours in the hospital wing (helping Poppy work out a week's worth of crosswords from the _Daily Prophet_, as it turned out) before retrieving her rucksack and going down to the dungeons for a less cheerful time.

Snape had a pile of foul-looking cauldrons and flasks waiting for her in the Potions classroom, along with a bucket, a heap of rags, and an orange box of baking soda.

Meli took it all in with a glance then turned to the potions master with a snort. "Before you set me to work, I think it's only fair of me to tell you that you can't make me miserable unless I allow it, and that I flatly refuse to do."

"How fortunate that Chickadee Chisholm and Almyra Natterbek are not similarly enlightened," Snape countered coolly. "No sooner had I set aside something useful for you to do than those two bright, shining examples of the imminent downfall of Western civilization claimed the task for their own. I expect them after dinner this evening, and I sincerely hope that they're at the job until breakfast tomorrow."

Meli raised her eyebrows. "Dare I to ask?"

"Is unfulfilled curiosity a torment to you?"

She smirked. "An inconvenience only."

"Then I shall have to content myself with merely inconveniencing you." Snape's eyes flicked to the rucksack. "I don't recall assigning you a further errand."

"I was bored and thought I might as well make myself useful." Meli swung rather than handed the rucksack to him, but he caught it neatly enough. He might not have a drop of vampire blood in him, but even as a full human he had excellent reflexes and remarkable grace.

"How thoughtful of you." He rummaged through the contents briefly and looked up with an expression of grudging approval. "It will do, I suppose. Are you as eager to sort and catalog as you are to toss bric-a-brac into a bag?" He arched an insulting eyebrow. "Or perhaps you have some more pressing social obligation which prevents your remaining to do so?"

"Wishful thinking on your part, sir," Meli replied stiffly. "I am happy to sort and catalog and whatever else you demand of me, within reason, of course." At his startled look, she raised her eyebrows and added, quite innocently, "Asking me to clean cauldrons without magic for no specific good purpose, for example, is quite unreasonable, since I'm an assistant rather than a student being punished."

Snape snorted but led the way to his office without another word. Once there, he had a fair bit to say, but not before the door was closed and the room warded.

"I've noticed that you kept to the castle all day today," he said without preamble. "May I recommend that you continue to do so for a day or two further."

Meli suppressed a grimace. "Dumbledore's noticed, then."

Snape nodded curtly. "Since you've always returned with something for me, I have been able to explain it away thus far, but the headmaster knows that my stores, while somewhat depleted, are not in dire need of replenishment—and he felt the need to mention it this morning. I underestimated how close a watch he would keep on your movements." He hesitated then asked, "Have you at least had some success in pursuing your goals?"

"Some, yes," Meli replied. "And the rest I can pursue in a few days' time. Are you expected to tighten my leash and keep me within easier reach?"

He nodded again. "Once Chisholm and Natterbek have paid due penance for melting two cauldrons and most of a work table, I expect you'll find yourself perfecting your Scourgifying charm over the next fortnight or so; the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T.-level classes are producing quite a few nightmares—often as part of brewing their potions correctly."

Meli grimaced, remembering the nasty, complicated concoctions she'd had to put together her last two or three years in Snape's class. "I don't mind being kept busy into the weekend," she said. "Do you think there's a possibility of you needing an errand run then?"

"A distinct possibility." He sighed. "And because the headmaster wishes me to prepare for a war as quickly and quietly as possible, I doubt that it will be a manufactured errand."

"I'll go when it's needed, and until then, I'll report faithfully for scrubbing and cataloguing duty every day." Meli paused, feeling that there must be something more to say… but there was nothing, and that knowledge reminded her all over again that, for all his resemblance, this Snape was not the man she had known for twenty years.

The hollowed-out feeling of homesickness returned, along with the progressively strengthening realization that she would never truly see any of her oldest friends ever again.

It was a strange relief when Snape ended their conversation and exiled her to the storeroom to sort through the growing pile of recently-acquired potions ingredients. Sometimes solitude really was to be preferred after all.


	12. The Unspeakable

**Chapter 12: The Unspeakable  
**It was Saturday before she left Hogwarts again, but true to his word, Snape had an errand ready for her. A quick glance over the shopping list showed that there were several items she could find in the forest, which would buy her time out of sight. She doubted that Dumbledore would go to the trouble of tracking her every move or counting her every minute off-campus, but she liked leaving as few chances as possible.

Crimson Fell was an early-riser and married to her work, so Meli thought that there was probably a fairly good chance of catching her at the office, even on a weekend. Granted, Avallach had given her Crim's home address, but given the woman's innate paranoia, turning up at her most-likely unlisted front door would be a bad move—to say the very least.

She Apparated to an alley near the nondescript building that housed the Edinburgh branch of the Department of Mysteries. Why that department might need a satellite in addition to what was in the Ministry of Magic was as much a mystery as the department itself was, but Meli was happy to take advantage of it. She had never liked the rigmarole and hassle of getting into the Ministry, and if she could dispense with at least some of it, so much the better.

The office itself looked like a painfully normal, even generic, Muggle office; it could have been a law firm or a travel agency, but no one in their right mind would ever consider that it might be in any way extraordinary. The only doorkeeper, apparently, was a nail-painting, gum-chewing receptionist with disco globes for earrings, who called Meli "honey" and had a permanent look to her, as if she never slept, never took a lunch break, and just plain never left. She wrote out a note, flicked her wand, and went back to painting her nails hot pink while it assembled itself into a paper airplane and zipped out of the lobby area.

"You sure are an early bird," she commented. "Unspeakable Fell's up with the sun, and _she_ only got in ten minutes ago!"

Meli nodded gravely, unsure what to make of this or how to respond to it. She would have expected better security than a chattery receptionist from such a secrecy-shrouded organization—indeed, she still did. The fact that she couldn't see it concerned her more than the bouncy blonde in front of her did.

Far sooner than she would have expected a reply memo, she saw movement to her right and looked—

To find Crimson Fell herself, in the flesh, very alive and very grim on top of it. She cut straight through Meli with her hard, gray eyes, and the set of her jaw showed that, while her curiosity was piqued, so was her characteristic paranoia.

"Thanks, Misty," Crim said, her Scottish accent every bit as pronounced as Meli remembered it. "I'll take it from here."

Misty shrugged and smiled. "M'kay."

Meli knew she had paled, knew that she probably looked faint; she saw the confirmation of it in Crim's eyes. As much as she had tried to prepare herself for this, it still knocked the wind out of her to see her old friend acting normal. The last time she'd seen this face…

She resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut against the grisly, bloody memory while Crim was watching her so closely.

"Miss Sable, I think you said?"

Meli nodded as naturally as she could. "Yes, ma'am."

"Walk with me."

Crim waited until Meli was next to her to turn around; she wasn't about to have her back to an unknown quantity—painful to realize, but quite expected. She led by gesture rather than position, and Meli was shortly ushered into a small, Spartan office at the back. There was a faint buzzing sensation when she passed through the doorway—sign of a nonstandard ward of some sort, she thought.

Crim moved around her desk to face Meli and motioned to a chair. "Pray, take a seat, Miss Sable," she said. "I have a feeling we'll be talking for awhile."

Meli raised her eyebrows but complied, wondering what exactly had been in Misty's memo and how it had ended up there.

"I was just about to take my morning tea," Crim went on. "Will you partake?"

Meli nodded once. "Please. And," she added, clearing her throat, "I am not opposed to the addition of a Truth Potion if you are not—and if you happen to have one handy on short notice, of course."

Knowing Crim, she not only had it handy but had already laced a cup with it before going out to the lobby. The Unspeakable's eyebrows hovered somewhere just below her hairline, though, and she stared at Meli.

"That seems rather an extreme course," she said, her voice very even.

"I have a very peculiar story to tell you," Meli replied, "and I want you to know that you have every assurance of its being true."

Crim looked at her a moment longer before nodding and turning to the tea, but even then she had one eye on Meli. If she did take the opportunity to add anything in her guest's presence, Meli didn't see it, but after two or three sips of tea, she felt something taking effect.

"Now," Crim said, setting down her own cup and saucer, "the cross-reference on Misty's memo indicated that until a week ago, no person with your name and physical description existed. It also mentioned that the wand you're carrying registers as rightfully purchased and yet there is no record of its ever being bought; in fact, it's still in stock at Ollivander's, ever though you have it with you." She raised her eyebrows. "That, coupled with the fact that you knew how to find this place, to say nothing of finding _me_, tells me that you've made a horrendous understatement when you call your story merely peculiar."

Now it was Meli's turn to stare. How Misty had divined any of that in the space of about a minute and a half—

No. Misty couldn't have managed that without at least some help. She had been right, then: There was far more to this office than met even a fully trained witch's eye.

To judge by the evaluative look Crim had leveled at her, the Unspeakable was following her thoughts step by step.

"Well," Meli said after a moment. "That may save me a bit of breath in convincing you." She took a deep breath. "A little over a week ago, I was brought, by convoluted process, through a magical gateway from a world similar to this one. In my timeline, You-Know-Who had returned to life, and the resulting war was coming to an end. I came from there at the moment of his death, and it doesn't appear that my coming was entirely accidental."

"Someone brought you, then?"

She nodded. "They meant to bring someone else, but they got me instead. Since I'm here, though, they still assigned me a task."

"'They' referring to whom?"

"A magical race known as The Watchers." Meli cleared her throat. "They like to watch various worlds develop, but some of them apparently decided to meddle; the results have been flaws in several of the timelines, which the other Watchers bring in outsiders to fix."

"Outsiders like you?"

"Outsiders like my brother," Meli said, narrowing her eyes and thinking venomous thoughts in Avallach's direction. "I came instead of him by accident and so inherited his task."

Crim pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That accounts for the oddities of your name and wand, I suppose… but not for your coming here."

Meli sighed and took another sip of her laced tea. "I know what's going to go wrong and what's meant to be fixed," she replied. "I also know that I can't do it by myself, so I'm trying to form a coalition of people willing to pursue the goal with me." She looked Crim straight in the eye. "You-Know-Who is coming back, and soon."

Crim knit her brows. "Does Dumbledore know?"

"He does." Meli bit her lip. "But I don't trust him entirely… and unless I'm much mistaken, neither does Professor Snape."

"And that matters to you?" Crim gave her a thin smile. "Or to me?"

"In my own timeline, Professor Snape saved my life when I was a child," Meli said. "I owe everything to him, and I haven't found his counterpart here to be any different from him in that respect." She raised her eyebrows. "And as for you, your counterpart and Collum's were my closest friends at Hogwarts and afterward. Collum shilly-shallied a bit between fear and admiration of Professor Snape, but the Crimson I knew shared with me a profound respect for him as a favorite teacher."

Crim was silent a moment, examining her with narrowed eyes. When she finally spoke again, her tone was musing. "If you were a school friend of mine, you'll have heard about the infamous Father Morris."

Meli smiled. "He was Father Moore in my world, but yes, I've heard about him. In later years, he earned the nickname Father Fake-Bake, and he was very fond of making you recite the catechism—which was always followed by his house being toilet-papered." Her smile broadened to a grin. "And I also know about Mrs. Holland's poodle."

A slow grin crept its way across Crim's face. "His name _was_ Father Moore," she said. "And I had nearly forgotten about the poodle." She leaned back in her seat and looked Meli over as if seeing her for the first time. "I do have one more question."

_Only one?_ "Yes?"

"If we were such very good friends, why were you so alarmed to see me?"

Meli swallowed and silently berated herself for not hiding her reaction better. "To own the truth… the Crimson Fell I knew has been dead two and a half years. The last time I saw her, I was in a Muggle morgue—identifying her."

Crim went pale. "How did—_she_—die?"

Meli shook her head. "The circumstances surrounding her death are in no danger of repeating themselves here—"

"_How_, Miss Sable?" There was a sharpness in Crim's voice that Meli recognized as, of all things, fear.

She took a deep breath and deliberately met the Unspeakable's eye. "Another friend turned Death Eater and betrayed her. He murdered her because—" Meli swallowed again as her throat tightened painfully. "Because she was my friend, and You-Know-Who wanted to punish me."

Crim was wide-eyed and pale. "Why?"

Meli closed her eyes. She had half-expected this to come out in her first interview with Andrea, and since it hadn't, she had hoped that it wouldn't come out with Crim, either; this was not something she wanted everyone knowing about, but there was no avoiding it now. Not with Crimson, and possibly Collum, at any rate. "He wanted me to become a Death Eater, but I refused in a way that publicly humiliated him." She cleared her throat and opened her eyes again to meet Crim's gaze. "He was… my grandfather."

A long, dark silence fell between them as Crim processed this and Meli wondered what was going through her mind. Even having known the woman's counterpart so well, she had no ability at mind-reading, particularly when nothing was betrayed in Crim's eyes or expression.

The Unspeakable at last stirred, taking a long sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving Meli's. "So. Lord Voldemort is coming back." Her voice was as deadly calm as Robert the Bruce's must have been after learning of William Wallace's execution. "What do you have in mind?"

And over the next two hours, Meli gave her a very precise answer.

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _**Aaagh!**_ It hurts us, precious, it does, when they says such things about our friend Meli! _Please_ allow me to assure you, excessivelyperky, that Meli has no known blood connection to the Sirius Black of _any_ timeline. I do see, to some extent, what you mean about the boredom leading to Severely Stupid actions, and I'll grant that Meli is still more of a Gryffindor than she'd like to admit, even to herself. However, she's just come fresh from three years in another war in which she suffered for other people's lethal Severe Stupidity (alas, the story stopped before those chapters were posted, but suffice it to say that Sirius met with a _very_ bad end, and Meli was left having to cope with it). She would never forgive herself if she "pulled a Sirius", so to speak, and there are plenty of people in her life, even in this timeline, who will nail her to the floor if she steps too far out of intelligent line.

That said, however, yes, Meli would get along famously with Kreacher; Snarky and I have tried at different times to determine the likelihood of those two ever meeting, and unfortunately, the chances are slim. There are other house elves in her world, though, and Kwippy's only the first she'll encounter.

And as far as the slow build goes, sorry things aren't moving quite as fast as I'd hoped, but don't worry—Meli will see action soon, courtesy of a skrewt, a spider, and two very confused ducks (among other lethal things).

Also of note: "The Selkirk Grace" has been getting on my nerves for years because I wrote it while immersed in Dickens, and it therefore reads like a really awful Dickens spiel, diction-wise. There are also some irritating little inconsistencies that Snarky and I have been working to smooth over. Consequently, in case anyone cares about the earlier adventures of Meli, I am about to begin reposting the, hm, remastered version--story intact, but a bit less annoying to read (one hopes). Chapter the First has already been posted, and more should follow soon.  
AE


	13. Sub Rosa

**Chapter 13: Sub Rosa**  
After completing her own errands and Snape's, Meli returned to Hogwarts and didn't leave again for the better part of a week. As promised, Snape kept her plenty busy with cleaning up after his students, and she kept herself occupied the rest of the time by visiting Poppy or reading. Her clandestine brewing was finished for the time being, and all of her medicines were carefully hidden where she could get to them easily in case of an "episode". Kwippy had been pleasantly surprised to find the wardrobe dust- and cobweb-free when she had been allowed to clean it again, but she had still scoured it from top to bottom, just to make sure.

Snape mentioned once that Moody appeared entirely ignorant that anyone had found him out, but beyond that he said nothing to Meli that wasn't for Dumbledore's ears, as well.

She had parted company with Crimson Fell having made an appointment to meet again in a week, and Crim had said that she would speak with Collum in the intervening time. Meli's only task, since she had mentioned that her freedom of movement was somewhat limited, was to arrange for Andrea and Kalimac to be at the meeting, as well.

Since she had no guarantee that a message sent by owl would be truly secure, she Apparated to Ariel again on Friday, arriving just after classes ended for the day. Andrea was nowhere around, but David Kalimac was easy to find—all the more so since he found her first.

"So your hair really is black," he commented, crossing a pathway to stand beside her. As promised, Meli had altered her _glamourie_ just enough to change her hair color.

She sighed. "Good afternoon to you, too."

He shrugged. "Sorry. I didn't expect you to say hi—that's something friends do—so I figured I'd save you the trouble of skipping to the next part of the conversation."

She rolled her eyes. "How efficient of you. Is Andrea about?"

"She went back to D.C. on Wednesday."

"I see." Meli gritted her teeth. "I was hoping to talk with both of you, but my time is rather limited."

Kalimac sobered abruptly. "Did something happen?"

"No—not in terms of major events, but there _is_ a meeting I was hoping you and she could come to." She cleared her throat. "Andrea explained what's going on?"

"As much as you told her," he said. "You were able to contact the others, then?"

She nodded. "One of them, but I expect the other to follow."

"Where and when do you need us to be?"

Meli only somewhat hid her surprise. Kalimac could actually be a decent conversationalist when he wasn't trying to irritate. "The equivalent of six tomorrow morning here," she replied. "Do you know of Oxford?"

He gave her an amused look. "We're not _that_ backward over here."

She ignored him. "In the town nearby, there's a Muggle pub called The Eagle and Child. Stand in front of it, looking across the street, and you'll see a sign for The Rose and Thistle. There's a corner room inside called The Cosy. We'll gather there."

He nodded, and she turned to leave, but he neatly sidestepped and came around to face her again, his expression intent. "Do you mind if I ask you just one more thing, Miss Sable?"

She stopped and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Did my—equivalent, I guess you'd call him—do something to piss you off in some way?"

Meli sighed. "Mr. Kalimac, I never knew your counterpart; I don't even know if you had one. Any irritation or annoyance your presence evokes is your own accomplishment to claim." She looked at her watch. "I have to go."

He nodded again and watched her leave, and only after she was well out of sight did he say out loud the first word that came to mind.

"_**Ouch**_."

ooo

Meli arrived at The Rose and Thistle exactly on time and found everyone else already waiting for her. Collum, who was meeting her for the first time, stared openly at her, as if he half-expected her to disappear in a puff of smoke; Meli was tempted to do the same, though for more substantial reasons. He, like Crim, had gray eyes and wavy brown hair, and the last time Meli had seen him, he was bleeding to death from a horrific curse cast by someone he had once called a friend. Seeing him alive and with all of his blood in his veins where it belonged was a bit of a shock, though less of one than it had been with Crim.

_I must be getting used to this,_ Meli thought darkly. _How comforting._

Kalimac sat quietly across the table from the Fells, staring at what looked like a cup of unrefined petroleum but what must be some toxic form of coffee. Meli felt a brief stab of sympathy for getting the two Americans out of bed so early on a Saturday, but Andrea looked chipper enough. She and both Fells had pints of stout in front of them, so when the attendant dropped by a moment later, Meli requested a lager. No one had ordered food yet, but everyone had a menu.

"I do apologize for the inconvenient time," she told Andrea and Kalimac. "Thank you for coming in spite of it."

Andrea shrugged. Kalimac didn't move a muscle and didn't look up, which drew a keen glance from the Auror, and Meli wondered if his behavior was out of the ordinary.

_Of course it is,_ she thought. _Even when tired to death, a proper smart-aleck can always find _something_ to say. Maybe he's hung-over._

She cleared her throat. "I suppose it's best for everyone to know from the outset who we all are. You all know, to varying degrees, my history—at least the pertinent part of it. The name I've chosen to use at this time is Neshdiana Ailsa Sable, or just Ailsa." She indicated each of the others in turn. "Crimson Fell works for the British Ministry." Crim had made it clear that she had no wish to be known as an Unspeakable just yet. "Collum Fell is a mediwizard at the main Wizarding hospital in Britain. Andrea Underhill is an American Auror. David Kalimac teaches Potions at Ariel Academy in America and holds a Mastery in that field."

Even at the sound of his name and credentials, Kalimac didn't react, and the look Andrea gave him this time was longer and sharper than before. Meli furrowed her brow and glanced at Crim. "Security?"

"We swept and warded before you got here," the Unspeakable replied. "No bugs, no beetles, and no eavesdroppers allowed."

The attendant, ironically, came back then to drop off Meli's pint and to ask about food orders. Kalimac spoke for the first time—just enough to order a bowl of lamb stew—and promptly lapsed into silence again.

Andrea glanced at him after the attendant left and then looked back to Meli.

"You've said, I think, that you know what's going to go wrong and how it's supposed to go right?" When Meli nodded, she asked, "So how much, exactly, do you know?"

Meli took a deep breath. These were the only people to whom she'd admitted any specific knowledge, and she had spent the past few days wrestling with just how much she _should_ tell them. In the end, however, she had to trust them; she needed their help too much to do otherwise.

"I know all of the details of the chain of events, from _his_ return to his destruction three years after." She flicked her eyes from one to another of them, gauging reactions, but even Collum, the only Gryffindor among them, betrayed no surprise. "I also came by detailed information on the counterparts of several people I knew, though not all of them. That's how I was able to find you and to know that you're trustworthy."

"Are there any others we could look up?" Andrea asked.

Meli shook her head. "Not to my knowledge at this time," she replied. "Raven Vlad, for instance, will probably not be able to help here as she did in my timeline."

Kalimac dragged his eyes away from his coffee to stare at her. "Raven Vlad?"

"In my native timeline, You-Know-Who forged an alliance with Raven's uncle, Morden Vlad, who was head of the clan; she acted as a liaison of sorts, all the while reporting on both the vampires and the Death Eaters to Dumbledore." Meli shrugged. "As nearly as I can tell, however, no such alliance is being considered."

"For good reason," Andrea said, with a satisfied smirk. "Morden Vlad's been staked and gone for a good twenty years; his brother Turin's calling the shots now, and he won't make alliances with other vampires, much less mere humans."

"In that case, there's really no point, as you see," Meli said. "I can't pretend to be sorry; Raven had the worst time of all of us, and I would be glad to spare her this time around." Severus and Zarekael had done their best to shelter Raven, but she had had two vicious masters to please and so had taken twice the punishment when things had gone wrong. One failure had apparently warranted being drizzled from neck to ankle, shoulder to wrist, with holy water, branding her at the age of seventeen with scars she would bear for the rest of her life.

No, Meli had no regrets about leaving Raven out of this war, and she would mourn Morden Vlad's death about as much as she was ever likely to mourn Voldemort's.

"So what _is_ going to happen?" Collum asked, but he had to wait for the answer; the attendant was back with everyone's food.

When they were alone again, Meli sighed. "In eleven days, You-Know-Who is going to return, but he's going to keep things quiet for awhile. Dumbledore will warn Fudge, whose idiotic tendencies will lead him to think that Dumbledore is trying to undermine him and take over the Ministry. As a preemptive strike, he'll place one of his toadies in the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, eventually naming her Grand Inquisitor and then headmistress when Dumbledore is removed. Several of the students, led by Harry Potter, will form a sort of auxiliary Defense class, which will eventually be condemned as a more or less criminal enterprise. As a redeeming quality, though, they'll manage to flummox her a bit.

"You-Know-Who, meanwhile, will engineer an escape for his faithful followers from Azkaban and will then manipulate Potter into breaking into the Department of Mysteries to retrieve the record of a prophecy regarding You-Know-Who's downfall. The prophecy will be destroyed, some of the Death Eaters will be arrested, and one or two key people from the Order of the Phoenix killed at the end of it." She sighed. "And Potter, thank God, escapes unscathed, in spite of richly deserving otherwise.

"You-Know-Who's return now being obvious, Fudge and his Grand Inquisitor will be removed. The Dementors will choose the obvious side, and a long, dark summer will ensue. You-Know-Who will assign the task of assassinating Dumbledore to a Hogwarts student whose father failed him. Dumbledore, meanwhile, will do his best to teach Potter everything necessary for defeating You-Know-Who." She managed somehow to keep any hint of sarcasm out of her voice, but it was a near miss. "Professor Snape will move over to teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Horace Slughorn will emerge from retirement—"

"Oh, God," Crim groaned. "Teaching Potions again?"

Meli nodded. She had never met Slughorn—Snape's predecessor in her world had been an obsequious twit named Brewer—but from the information Avallach had given her, she gathered that Slughorn was more liability than asset to his students. "I'm afraid so."

"Surely that's one of the problems we're meant to fix?" Collum's tone was pleading. "The man's a bloody coward menace!"

"I think I might be able to help with that." Kalimac's voice was low and dull, but he drew all eyes to him. "If you want me to."

Something in his tone cut through Meli, and she had the sudden inexplicable impression that she was somehow responsible for his present mood. "Anything you can do, and are willing to do, is welcome," she said.

One eyebrow quirked briefly, but otherwise he didn't react. "I'm a potions master," he reminded them, "but I also trained at Blackwing. If I apply this year to teach Defense at Hogwarts, they won't hire me, because the fix is in for this toady chick, but my name'll still be in the system. Then I reapply next year, and no matter which position I teach, they won't need this guy Slughorn."

"It'll almost certainly be Potions," Crim said. "Snape's been applying for a position transfer to Defense every year since _we _were students. If he finally gets it, it's because Dumbledore says it's time, which means it'll be part of some plan."

"Even if it doesn't work in the end—and I don't know why it wouldn't, unless the fix is in for Slughorn—it's still a brilliant plan," Meli said.

The eyebrow quirked again. "I'll get started on my application today, then."

"Thank you." She shifted uncomfortably. "I honestly don't know how much of a wartime liability Slughorn would be, but I do know that he's no good at all for Slytherin House's reputation—or students."

Crim narrowed her eyes. "Which makes it sound suddenly as if he, not Professor Snape, is the Head of House."

Meli cleared her throat. "Yes." Now came the part she _really_ didn't want to tell. "At the end of the school term, a group of Death Eaters will invade the school, assisted by the student previously mentioned. They'll be defeated… but not before Dumbledore is killed." She bit her lip and fell silent.

Andrea eyed her sharply. "By Professor Snape?"

"At Dumbledore's order ahead of time!" Meli snapped, seeing Crim and Collum's stricken expressions. "It's all part of some brilliant, all-encompassing plan for the greater bloody good, as he thinks of it! Left to his own devices and apart from what amounts to emotional blackmail, Severus Snape would never even have _considered_, much less done, it!"

Her words came out much more heatedly than she'd intended, and she saw all four of them reevaluating her in light of them. Well, let them; Snape was more than a friend to her, he was a mentor and the closest thing she had to a father. The fact that his counterpart here had no such history with her didn't prevent her being defensive in his behalf.

"That… explains why he would no longer be Head of House," Crim said after a moment, and the evenness in her voice sounded forced. "Go on, Ailsa."

Meli closed her eyes briefly and sighed. "That summer," she continued, looking up again, "with so little warning as to be almost improbable, You-Know-Who will assume silent control of the Ministry and launch a campaign against Muggle-borns and half-bloods. Potter and everyone associated with him will be branded as wanted criminals, so he and two of his friends will go into hiding and attempt, using the information given him by Dumbledore, to destroy You-Know-Who."

She took a deep breath. "The key to his immortality is in the existence of seven horcruxes—"

She was cut off by several gasps from the group and a colorful bit of profanity from Collum.

"_Seven?!_" Crim breathed, horrified. "You cannot be serious!"

"Even one is insane," Andrea said numbly. "What goes into making them—"

"It gives a whole new meaning to calling him practically soulless," Kalimac murmured, but the look on his face made it clear that he wasn't joking. "Why in God's Name—?"

"He thinks he _is_ a god," Meli replied quietly. "That's the whole point. There is no higher purpose than himself, no greater pursuit than his ambition, and no one above or beyond him to tell him he is wrong."

Kalimac took a deep, ragged breath. "You seem to know a bit about the workings of his mind."

"I went to Muggle university," she said without batting an eye. "My best marks were in Logic and Psychology; the two disciplines combine nicely when it comes to analyzing the thoughts and activities of an enemy."

Collum shook his head. "With seven horcruxes in addition to himself, he practically _is_ immortal."

"Only if they remain hidden and intact," Meli countered. "One has been destroyed already, though, and Dumbledore will destroy another before his death. The other five will be left for Potter to discover and destroy, and in theory, Dumbledore will leave him enough clues to follow toward that end." She buried a quick flash of resentment at the memory of Bane's stern demand.

"Will he succeed?" Collum asked.

Meli nodded. "Yes. But not before the meaningless deaths of far too many good people." She glanced at Crim. "Including Professor Snape."

"Is _that_ something we're meant to fix?"

"No," Meli replied, "but I intend to fix it anyway."

Collum grinned. "You can count the Fells in on that quest, I'm sure."

"It's two or three years away yet," Crim reminded him coolly. "There's no way to move up Potter's timetable?"

Meli shook her head. "Not without Dumbledore knowing about it and probably becoming rather unpleasant. With him I have been… shall we say, less readily forthcoming with regard to what and how much I know. He's under the impression that my knowledge of people and events is limited to what I experienced in my own timeline, and even that has caused him extreme alarm. _Why_ he chooses not to tell Potter about the horcruxes until well into the war is a question I can't answer, but he _does_ choose it."

"I have to say," Andrea remarked darkly, "I'm liking Dumbledore less and less, the more I hear about him."

"But the unsettled question of the moment," Crim said, "is what to do now. Professor Kalimac can apply for a position at Hogwarts, but the earliest he'll take it is a year from now. Potter won't start looking for the horcruxes until after that, and it'll be some time yet before Professor Snape's life-and-death situation occurs. Meanwhile, You-Know-Who's about to come back, and The Fudge is about to take over Hogwarts. What do we mean to do about _that_?"

"We _could_ get a head start on the horcruxes," Collum suggested. "Dumbledore may sit on his hands, but why should we?"

Meli's throat tightened, and she inwardly muttered viciousness in Bane's general direction. "We can seek them out and perhaps make them easier for Potter to find," she said aloud, "but one thing that's been made quite clear to me is that Potter must destroy them, or order them destroyed, himself." She paused as a new thought struck her. Surely Bane couldn't object to _that_… "I do know how they can be destroyed, though, and I don't see that we would be forbidden to help Potter by delivering to him the means for completing his quest."

"That'll make a fun little summer hobby," Crim said sardonically.

"What about Fudge's toady?" Andrea asked. "It'd be a crying shame to let her wreak unanswered havoc."

Meli nodded. "True enough. As a former problem student, I must admit that the only thing coming to mind is some sort of harassment inflicted from the safety of the shadows."

Kalimac raised his eyebrows. "_You_ were a problem student?"

She glanced at the Fell twins then back to him. "Well, I had help."

He seemed skeptical but nodded. "If this chick's anything like others who've held the title of Grand Inquisitor, she'll freak out over anything she can't either control or crush. Rear-guard harassment might just be the way to unravel her."

"If it doesn't get the antagonist killed first," Andrea muttered.

"Fortunately," Meli said, "we wouldn't be the only ones pushing her buttons. Several students are going to make it their lives' mission to make her life as difficult as possible, and most of the faculty will at least be sympathetic to the cause."

"And there's Peeves, too," Crim said. "Never underestimate how helpful a poltergeist can be in such a situation." She raised her eyebrows. "Do you know the most effective buttons to push? After all, if you want to make someone's wig flip, you have to know what puts their natural hair on-end."

Meli smiled. "Mr. Kalimac has hit upon it already. Dolores Umbridge's downfall is loss of control."

Crim's eyebrows shot up, and Collum let out a snort of laughter. "Dolores Umbridge," the latter snickered. "_This_ is going to be fun."

Andrea looked from one twin to the other. "I take it you know her."

"She was in our parish briefly before Mam and Da ran her out," Collum replied.

"I think Father Cute-Little-Old-Guy had a bit to do with it, too," Crim added reflectively. "Although I'm sure what happened to her cat didn't hurt, either."

Three pairs of horrified eyes immediately glued themselves to the twins.

"You _hurt_ her _cat_?" Kalimac demanded.

Crim sighed. "We damaged its psyche, that's all. I don't believe in physically harming animals."

"It was a Persian named Fru-Fru," Collum said, his tone unrepentant. "We dyed it electric blue and gave it cornrows."

Crim grinned slowly. "I think old Toad Woman's wails of outrage could be heard in Australia. Gave the wombats a nasty shock, I'm sure."

"Never saw her at Mass again after that." Collum shook his head. "But… if it's Umbridge you're talking about, Ailsa, we've an idea how to make her crack."

"Oh, do we," Crim murmured, a plotting sheen in her eye.

Meli rolled her eyes. "What _is_ it with you two and giving animals extreme hairstyles?"

Collum sighed feelingly. "If you're referring to the incident with the poodle, I was barely involved. All I did was—"

"Spray-paint it pink and give it a Mohawk," Crim finished for him. "_I_ see her point, anyway."

Andrea looked from one Fell to the other with a sardonic smirk. "I s'pose it's too much to hope You-Know-Who has a pet?"

"A snake," Meli replied. "There's nothing to dye, braid, or shave, and in any case, I wouldn't recommend trying it. Petty harassment will work for Umbridge, but a strike against Himself had better be decisive and devastating if made at all." She raised her eyebrows. "And since that snake happens to be one of the horcruxes, I don't think we're likely to have a crack at harming either its person or its psyche." Although, given some of her childhood run-ins with that damned snake, she wouldn't have minded getting a crack at it; she and Nagini had never been on friendly terms.

"You know what all of the horcruxes are, then?" Crim said.

Meli nodded. "And I've a good idea of their locations. Unfortunately, several are in places none of us can get to."

Kalimach arched an eyebrow. "For example?"

"Well, there's the snake, of course, which is with You-Know-Who. There's also a locket, which ironically enough, is presently hidden in the house that's soon to become the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters. And then a cup, which is being kept in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts." She cleared her throat. "The seventh horcrux is more easily accessible, but destroying it is a matter of timing."

Andrea's eyebrows were at her hairline. "A time-sensitive horcrux?"

Meli smiled tightly. "Harry Potter himself."

Silence fell over the table while they processed that. Collum broke it first with a single word.

"_Damn_."

Crim looked narrowly at Meli. "And Dumbledore's not going to tell him. Is he."

Meli shook her head. "No."

"God." Kalimac closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Tell me again how he's on our side?"

"I'm beginning to doubt he is," Crim said grimly. "We're fighting a common enemy, sure, but otherwise we seem to be entirely at odds."

"I have no intention of either fighting or undermining Dumbledore," Meli told them. "Where necessary, I don't mind acting behind his back or under his nose, but the enemy of my enemy _is_ my friend, whether I like it or not."

Kalimac cleared his throat. "Maybe a good question at the moment, then, is what Dumbledore _does_ think you're doing. Reading between the lines, he's keeping a close eye on you, but what's he seeing?"

"So far, I'm running errands and doing grunt work for Professor Snape, socializing with the school's mediwitch, and nicking Muggle literature from the library to read in my spare time." She shrugged. "He's convinced that Snape doesn't like or trust me, but beyond that, I'm making myself useful until I've proven myself trustworthy enough for less routine tasks. He _has_ asked if I'd be willing to infiltrate the Death Eaters, but I turned down the opportunity—I've seen to clearly what happened to my friends who took the Mark."

"Do you think he'll press the issue?"

Meli shook her head. "Only if he's stupider than he appears. It would alienate me further, possibly even push me off his side altogether, and it might even earn me sympathy with Snape. I think he'd prefer to keep minimal any chances of my cooperating with the potions master outside of his direct control and supervision."

"Probably just as well," Andrea murmured. "So he makes an errand girl out of you, and as long as you bring him his Starbucks on time and don't paint your nails on the clock, you have some free rein to do your real job."

Collum looked amused at Andrea's assessment of things, but Crim's intent expression showed that her thoughts had taken a completely different turn.

"I don't care if Potter's the reincarnation of Merlin himself," she said suddenly. "Only a deal with the devil will get him into a Gringotts vault.

Meli considered that Griphook wasn't too far removed from at least a lower-order demon. "Agreed. So what do you suggest?"

Rather than replying, Crim merely grinned. Collum and Kalimac caught her drift at the same time. The mediwizard also grinned, but the potions teacher stared at her, flat-out gobsmacked.

"You have _got_ to be kidding!" Kalimac breathed.

"Five adults, fully trained in magic, and each with more cunning in our pinky fingernails than the Boy Who Lived has in his whole body?" Crim shrugged. "I'm not suggesting we try it tomorrow, but with two years to plan and act, I don't see why we should disregard it out of hand." She glanced to Meli. "And if we hide it again, with appropriate precautions and a few cryptic clues leading to it, I think we'll be satisfying the discovery-and-destruction requirement."

Kalimac shook his head wonderingly. "This is absolutely insane."

Meli glanced at him. "Which may very well be the key to our success," she countered. "Convention says that Gringotts is impossible to hit successfully, so who would expect an attempt?"

"An undetected break-in's preferable, of course." Andrea's voice was musing. "Do you really think it's possible?"

Kalimac sighed. "_Et tu_, Brutus?"

The Auror shrugged. "I like an intellectual challenge. Don't worry—when we get up to actually doing it, I'll freak out and demand to know what we were thinking."

"Thereby leaving the Slytherins in charge, as it should be," Crim added, sounding satisfied. "Come now, Professor Kalimac—haven't you ever done the impossible simply for the joy of proving that you're devious enough to manage it?"

"Only once," he grumbled, looking back into the depths of his coffee, "and that was for a very noble cause."

Collum snorted. "Destroying You-Know-Who's not noble enough for you?"

Kalimac withered him with a glare. "I fail to see how suicide accomplishes that objective, Dr. Fell. Do I believe _someone_ could pull this off? Sure—with months of planning and a team of crack commandoes. I know Andrea well enough, at least, to know the planning's covered, but—no offense—where's the commandoes? All I've heard so far is that three of you have a history as problem students, whatever you might mean by that, and two of you have a weird fascination with cosmetically altering ugly animals. I think the craziest thing Andrea's done is develop an obsession with Eighties hair bands, and I've never had a reason to do anything more than keep my head down in a dorm filled with vampires and Slayers.

"So fine. You want to hit Gringotts for a noble cause. I'm asking how you know we have a snowball's chance in hell of _doing_ it."

Collum was red and seething by the end of Kalimac's speech, but Crim nodded slowly. "Fair enough," she said, drawing an incredulous glare from her brother. "Do you have any objection to working out a plan just to see if it _is_ workable? We have two years—plenty of time to recognize and abandon a hopeless cause if it proves to be one."

Kalimac snorted. "Whatever. I'm only one voice anyway."

Collum glared at him resentfully. "And _I'm_ starting to wonder how you're an improvement over Slughorn."

"Collum, that's enough!" Meli snapped. "There was no call for that." From the corner of her eye, she saw that Kalimac had gone back to a close scrutiny of his coffee, a bitter smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. "I think we've all overstayed one another's patience."

"Agreed," Andrea said coolly, once more flicking concerned eyes to her fellow American. "How 'bout if we spend a few days mulling over what we know so far and reconvene with cooler heads and some workable ideas. Same time, same place, next Saturday?"

"Splendid idea," Crim said. "And in a transparent attempt to make up for my brother's poor manners, I'll be happy to settle the full bill myself. Come on, Collum—before you shove your other foot in your mouth."

She collared her twin one-handed and, with apologetic nods to the others, hauled him out of the room.

ooo

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Just a leetle heads-up: I will be moving in about three weeks, which might disrupt my posting schedule while I'm getting Internet re-hooked-up. In hopes of making it up to you, I'll post an extra chapter or two before the time comes, with a warning at the end of the post that it is, in fact, the last one before The Move.

Sorry this chapter was so long—I guess they all had a lot to say for themselves! And excessivelyperky, I can't make any promises for Harry's listening abilities; the Harry Meli knew and the one JKR gave us are just different enough to cause some potential problems there. If it's any comfort, though, he'll have the joy of meeting up with two very terrifying ducks in a couple chapters' time.  
AE


	14. Matters of the Heart

**Chapter 14: Matters of the Heart**  
Dark silence reigned in the Fells' wake as the others stared miserably at the tabletop.

"He'll snap out of it soon enough," Meli sighed at last. "He's just a bloody-minded Gryffindor."

"Well, why _should_ he trust me?" Kalimac countered. "I'm an outsider and a soft-bellied Yank. At least _he's_ honest enough to say what he thinks."

Andrea stared at him, and Meli recoiled as if he'd physically slapped her. "Cards on the table, then," the latter said quietly. "Is that what you really think of me?"

Kalimac's face was cold marble as he looked up at her. "I have no idea _what_ to think, Miss Sable. I'm not exactly a mind-reader, and I don't have the benefit of inside information. The only thing I _am_ clear on is that I'm here, apparently against your better judgment, because I might be _of use_, and if that's the case, I find myself wondering how you're much different from this practically evil Dumbledore we keep hearing about." He shook his head. "I was a student in Serpencoil for seven years, Miss Sable, and I've been the ARD there for another four. I know all about using people as a means to an end, so don't sugar-coat it for me. Just tell me up-front where I stand."

Meli felt herself shrinking in her chair as the blood drained from her face and the air fled her lungs, leaving her lightheaded in horror, not only that he _had_ drawn such a conclusion but that he _could_ have done.

"David," Andrea broke in, "what the hell—"

"No." Meli held up a hand. "You strike me as a rational man, Mr. Kalimac, so as much as I may dislike the implications, I'm not going to accuse you out-of-hand of coming from left field."

He snorted. "How charitable of you."

His sarcasm, oddly enough, hit a hollow place in her and dredged up too many sad and painful memories of misunderstandings with Severus and Zarekael. There had been a two-year period when it seemed that all any of them had done was apologized to the others, begged forgiveness, and agonized over whether they would survive the latest crisis (to say nothing of the war) as friends or enemies. Maybe it was a common trait among potions masters—perhaps it was a job requirement that they all be moody and sarcastic—but Kalimac had sounded exactly like Severus just now… and that settled her feet on familiar ground.

"I despise charity," she said, "and consequently, I try to avoid insulting others with it. All I offer is honesty and, should a time come when I've earned the right to be believed, my sincerest apology. Ask me whatever you like."

He sighed. "I just want to know where I stand with you."

_All right, and where _does_ he stand?_ She was silent for several minutes while she thought it over, and finally she sighed.

"On the basis of first impression only, I'm forced to admit frankly that you annoyed me. I'm not certain why, exactly, except that somehow I found you infuriating." She didn't understand why he smirked just then, so she ignored it and went on. "Since then, you've shown that you're a serious thinker with consideration for details and a capacity for sound planning—your questions have shown a concern for strategy, not a tendency toward cowardice. I can't help but respect you on those grounds, and yes, I _am_ aware that these qualities in you are assets toward the goals I have in mind."

She took a deep breath. "Because I trust Andrea and she trusts you, I've had in mind that you're an honorable and trustworthy man, and my observations so far have given me no reason to reconsider that." She sighed again and shook her head. "I don't know what more to say. I certainly can't prove my own character with words alone. As I said before, I recognize that you could contribute a great deal to the goals expressed here in this meeting… but if for understandable reasons you prefer otherwise, I cannot and will not lay the blame for it on you when it rests solely on my shoulders."

Kalimac looked coolly at her for a long moment. "Is martyrdom a strong trait in Slytherin?"

Meli felt the blood rush back to her face. Just when she thought she was getting better at burying the lion… "No," she replied stiffly. "Unfortunately, my most promising character development came later in life; I was Sorted into Gryffindor and lived there seven years."

He raised his eyebrows and seemed on the verge of a smile. "That explains more than you might think."

"Oh, _really_, now!" She looked to Andrea, who shrugged helplessly. "Meaning what, exactly?"

He smirked. "Among other things, you're not getting rid of me that easily. The rest is for me to know and you to bite your nails and wonder about."

"And now I'm forced to revise my opinion of you yet again," Meli said, narrowing her eyes.

"Do tell."

She stood, downing the last of her lager as she did, and gave him a proper glare that would make Severus Snape proud. "You, sir, really and truly _are_ infuriating." She turned on her heel and made an impressive exit, if she did say so herself.

Once she was gone, Andrea turned to Kalimac with a weary look. "You're a complete schmuck—you know that, right?"

He raised unconcerned eyebrows. "I'd like to think that Sabrina Serpencoil would approve."

Andrea snorted. "Yeah, well, _if_ you somehow manage to survive the courtship, I get a front-row seat at the wedding."

"My dear Andrea, I have no idea what you're talking about."

ooo

When Meli returned from her errands, assigned and clandestine, she found Snape in his potions stores, going over everything she had already catalogued. He was absorbed enough in his work that he didn't look up right away, and what she saw, or rather what it made her realize, made her heart sink.

The Snape she had known sometimes let his appearance go because he was preoccupied with work and simply didn't realize that two days had passed without him eating, bathing, or shaving; Zarekael was the same way, and so for that matter, was Meli herself. This Snape, however, had looked exactly the same way every time she'd seen him so far, whether he was lost in his work or not. He wasn't as meticulous about his appearance as his counterpart was, and she realized suddenly that it might be because he simply didn't care. With no aristocratic upbringing to live up to, and with instead a history of abuse, rejection, and neglect, he saw no reason to care for himself when no one else ever had done.

As she had told David Kalimac, she despised charity, and beyond that she hated pity… but a part of her pitied Severus Snape now.

He looked up at last, and if he saw any indication of her thoughts in her eyes, he didn't acknowledge it. "You do very thorough work, Neshdiana," he said grudgingly.

"I do my best, sir." She handed over her latest rucksack. "Would you like me to start cataloguing these now?"

Snape rifled through the contents. "No. Leave them for tomorrow."

"Very well." She waited a moment, but he said nothing further. "Are there any cauldrons that need cleaning, or would you like me to… tidy the classroom?"

Snape looked up from the rucksack, and this time she saw what she had missed before—a subtle warning of danger in his movements. "No," he all but growled. "I would like you to go away."

"Sir—" She bit back whatever she might have said to her old friend and nodded instead. "Yes, sir."

He was in a dudgeon about something, but there was no forcing a confidence from either of the Severus Snapes she had known, and she had no wish whatever to alienate this one. She nodded once then turned around and left the dungeons to lock herself in her quarters and think about breaking into Gringotts.

ooo

Severus watched Neshdiana go and forced down a slight twinge of remorse. She'd had no way of knowing he was in a foul mood, of course, and for all that it had taken her by surprise, she'd handled it well enough. His counterpart might have been her friend, but Severus thought it highly unlikely that any man much like himself would have told her.

Not about this.

He turned back to his previous work and scowled over the jar of monkshood he had taken down from a shelf.

Everyone had known that Potter and Lily were an "item", and those with any good memory at all had still thought it a very sudden-onset illness in the latter. How Lily Evans had gone, in the span of a fortnight or so, from thinking of Potter as an arrogant ass to being starry-eyed and madly in love with him was anyone's guess. Severus had reluctantly ruled out the Imperius and the most common love potions for the simpler reason that her behavior, while strange, didn't reflect any of the subtle signs of such interference. There had been whispers, especially in Slytherin House, that Lily had finally proven herself to be as shallow as everyone had always suspected, but he had rejected that theory, as well—though on far less logical grounds.

The final blow had been when she married the git, but the hardest blow had been the announcement of their engagement, given by Dumbledore himself (all smiles and twinkles and saying that it was his fondest wish that they be happy) a fortnight before the end of their seventh year.

Lily had had eyes for no one but her despicable fiancé, but Potter had spared Severus a triumphant, mocking look as he put an arm around Lily amid the cheers of three-quarters of the school.

Nearly two decades later, it still cut through him, and there was no one who could understand why, on a seemingly arbitrary day every year, he took solace in losing his temper, breaking whatever he could, and penalizing the hell out of anyone who dared to look happy in his presence.

Neshdiana was inoffensive, and today in particular, that offended him. He pulled seven or eight more jars from the shelves and, after checking to be sure their contents wouldn't immediately poison him, he smashed them one after another on the door she had closed behind her when she left.

ooo

Meli, meanwhile, locked herself in her quarters and cast a music charm to blast Linkin Park at a volume just under what would qualify as noise pollution. Something about loud music helped her to clear her mind and think, and with a tall order like breaking into Gringotts, clarity was a commodity she desperately needed.

Unfortunately, she found herself listening to the music rather than being cleansed by it; Linkin Park, she remembered belatedly, carried some weighty baggage for her. The last time she'd tried to distract herself with them had been right after being called in to identify the bodies of three Muggles murdered as part of her bane. One of them, Elizabeth Golden, had been her first friend after her escape from Voldemort….

And from there, her mind went straight to Elizabeth's brother Andrew.

Meli had never liked him much. As a teenager, he'd been a condescending son of a bitch, and even when he'd suddenly decided that he was in love with her, she hadn't found much to admire. He had somehow convinced himself that she was his personal project—a broken toy to be fixed and then shown off. She didn't smile enough, she didn't talk enough, she didn't eat enough… the list went on for miles. In spite of her increasingly obvious irritation with him, Andrew had also managed to convince himself that if he asked her, she would marry him.

It was a pathetic irony that within minutes of Meli refusing him, Andrew had been killed by Narcissa Malfoy, and it was even more ironic that Meli felt guiltier over his death than over most of the others. She had nicked the ring previously refused before paramedics arrived at the scene, and she'd worn it for a very long time afterward—a tangible reminder that she could not permit herself the luxury of anyone coming close to her.

The ring was gone now, returned to Andrew's family after her reported death in the war, and replaced after a fashion by another.

In the middle of the whole muddle over whether or not she, Severus, and Zarekael could last as friends or at least allies, Severus had given her a silver ring with a black stone—as opposite as possible from the gold-and-white engagement ring—to remind her that some friendships were precious enough to fight for. That was its only meaning, but it had stayed with her. She still wore it, even though those friends were lost to her; it was one of the few relics from her former life and all the more precious for it.

Why she should think of it now was beyond her, though. Snape was in a funk, but why should that trigger any memories? There was Linkin park, of course….

That might be it, but something still seemed unanswered. She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed at her temples as she racked her brain for a clue to the source, knowing that this would nag at her and prevent all other thought until she'd settled it.

It came at last—one solid thought that puzzled more than comforted her: _The bane is gone. What will you do now?_

_Live my life, of course,_ she answered irritably. _And break into Gringotts, somehow or other._

_And _how_ do you mean to live your life?_

Meli scowled fiercely, but the annoying new voice in her head didn't seem bothered by the look. _What sort of absurd question is that? I'm going to live as well as I can, save this bloody world from itself if possible, and find some sort of happiness for myself when the worst is over._

By_ yourself, of course. You don't have any friends, after all—too dangerous, you know._

She closed her eyes and rode out a now-familiar wave of hollow loneliness. No, she didn't believe that—not really. Even when the bane was active, she'd had a handful of friends who weren't afraid of the risks; she'd even had a family of sorts in Severus, Zarekael, and Raven. There was no reason to think that she would be isolated here.

Except that she hadn't exactly done a bang-up job at making friends so far. Dumbledore didn't trust her, Snape felt it wisest to keep his distance, and Poppy pitied her. Andrea and the Fells seemed to find her likable enough, but at this stage they were more allies than friends, and Kalimac—

She sighed. Now _there_ was something she'd mucked up beautifully, in true Gryffindor fashion, and she had no idea what to expect for the future. Sure, he'd been in a lighter mood when she left, but as she had discovered with the other potions masters she knew, that wasn't always a guarantee of certain improvement.

_No, you're not off to a great start._

Meli opened her eyes just enough to direct a proper glare at the floor. _Shut up, you._

She stood up and flicked her wand, and the music abruptly changed over to Rammstein. It wasn't likely to improve her mood, and it might not distract her from her present thoughts, but at least "Spiel Mit Mir" carried no additional baggage for her.

She set her teeth and started pacing, forcing herself to think out what little she knew about Gringotts and the Lestranges.


	15. Plotting

**Chapter 15: Plotting**  
The coalition met the following Saturday, with four days left before Voldemort's return, and whether the others felt anything or not, Meli sensed the approaching date hanging over her like a suffocating pall. Collum's temper, as predicted, was cooled to the point that he could speak more or less civilly to Kalimac, and the American potions teacher, while still subdued at another meeting that required him to be out of bed before six in the morning, was no longer outright moody.

"I've had a couple of thoughts about Gringotts," Crim said, once they all had drinks and food in front of them.

Andrea raised her eyebrows. "Let's hear 'em."

The Unspeakable cleared her throat. "The Lestranges are both serving out life sentences in Azkaban. The key to their vault will have been either confiscated by the Ministry or passed on to the next of kin." She smiled slyly. "Well, after a bit of clandestine poking about, I can tell you for sure that the Ministry never had it, and since the Lestranges have no children, the most likely person to have the key is Bellatrix's sister—"

"Narcissa Malfoy," Meli finished.

Crim nodded. "Yes. Assuming that this thing is in the vault right now, we might be able to get to it if we can lay our hands on the key."

"Which means we might be having a dress rehearsal for Gringotts at Malfoy Manor." Collum sounded almost inappropriately cheerful.

"Sounds great," Kalimac commented dryly. "So should we go in through the sewers or the ventilation shafts?"

Meli and Collum both gave him withering looks.

"Well, that'll be something requiring further thought," Crim said diplomatically. "Back to Gringotts, though, I thought of another way we could sneak in, entirely apart from sewage and cold air." She glanced at her brother, who raised his eyebrows and seemed suddenly cautious. "The bank is guarded by dragons, as we all know… and they have to feed those dragons—"

"Bloody _hell_!" Collum stared at her, wide-eyed. "You've _got_ to be kidding!"

Andrea traded confused looks with Kalimac. "Okay," she said. "I'm lost."

Collum shook his head as he turned to the Americans. "It's humans who would be most likely to break in, so it's humans they give the dragons a taste for. When prisoners die in Azkaban and when we get John Does at St. Mungo's, they go to Gringotts as dragon feed. Crim's saying we go in in body bags."

"And hopefully sedate the dragons before you get eaten." Kalimac shook his head and stared at Crim. "Are you nuts?"

"Perfectly certifiable," she replied blithely. "I never said it was a flawless idea, just that it's _one_ idea."

"Breaking into Malfoy Manor's sounding better all the time," Kalimac muttered. "What kind of name's Malfoy, anyway? It sounds like it should be French for _scumbucket._"

Meli smirked. "The Malfoys are a little too aristocratic for such a plebian name as that."

"What about piggy-backing?" Andrea said suddenly.

Kalimac arched an amused eyebrow. "I guess you could argue it's less plebian, but it doesn't make much sense for a family of aristocrats."

Andrea gave him a patient look. "Funny. I was talking about Gringotts, numbskull. What if we somehow give this Narcissa chick a reason to check up on sister-dear's vault and then sneak in behind her and nab the cup?"

"That would be easier to manage if any of us had personal contact with her," Meli said. "I know _I_ don't, for one." She looked around to the others, who all shook their heads.

"Well, I didn't say it was a perfect idea, either, but it's still something to kick around."

"I wouldn't rule it out right off," Crim said. "Collum and I've some connections we might make subtle use of if nothing better presents itself." She looked to Kalimac and raised her eyebrows. "Have you had any ideas?"

He shrugged. "Some vague ones, based on what I know from the American branch, but I don't know much about the British Gringotts. Are there any humans working there, or is it all goblins?"

"I know they employ several witches and wizards as curse-breakers," Meli replied. "Why?"

He nodded. "So create a problem, even if it's just a false flag, with several vaults, requiring someone to go by and check it out. One of us uses Polyjuice to impersonate a curse-breaker and goes by the Lestrange vault, among others."

"That'd be easier if Gringotts used Muggle technology," Andrea said. "Computers are a lot easier to hack than tamper-proof wards are."

"And we'd have to be careful to select extremely random vaults," Crim added. "If we hit too many that have anything in common—Death Eaters, wealthy families, high-profile names—it would draw attention."

"We'd also have to move quickly once the flags were raised," Meli said. "It makes sense that Gringotts would contact the owners of the vaults to have them come in and inspect them—" She stopped in mid-thought, a slow grin creeping across her face. "Which would bring Narcissa to Gringotts, sister-dear's key in hand."

Andrea shook her head. "But we still have the problem of raising false flags in the first place, not to mention we don't even know which vault we're after or which random ones to hit."

Kalimac nodded slowly. "You'd almost have to _be_ a curse-breaker to know how to do that." He raised his eyebrows. "So… Anyone know a curse-breaker?"

"No one I'd trust," Crim replied. Andrea and Collum shook their heads.

The potions teacher looked to Meli. "What about you, Miss Sable?"

Meli took a deep breath and held it a moment. "There are two that I know of," she said at last. "One is solidly in Dumbledore's camp and so wouldn't be over-eager to trust any of us. The other…" She swallowed. "All of my information states that he's trustworthy, but I would prefer to leave him out of it unless we have no other choice—and then I'll want to have some substantial leverage."

Andrea gave her a sharp, shrewd look. "His counterpart wasn't so trustworthy, I take it?"

Meli cleared her throat and offered a strained smile. "His counterpart was a Death Eater." _Who horrifically murdered Crimson and Collum Fell before I murdered him,_ she added silently. Even without that information, the others seemed to understand well enough why she felt as she did; they nodded soberly.

"We'll leave that one alone for the moment, then," Crim said. "If it comes down to recruiting him, though, I'll see if I can't dig up a bit of dirt on him."

"I'll keep it in mind," Meli sighed. "In the meantime, I have a line on a relic or two that could destroy the horcruxes, and I've an idea of where we could re-hide the cup once it's recovered from Gringotts."

"Godric Hollow," Collum said promptly.

Meli stared at him. "How did you—?"

He shrugged. "Well, it seems like a place Harry Potter'd be likely to go, aye? And it's certainly a place that would stick in You-Know-Who's mind—sure, he was defeated there, but _because_ of the horcruxes, he wasn't destroyed. Of course, he might've thought of that already."

"No, actually, he hasn't." Meli shook her head. "Or at least, if he did, he chose not to hide one there for whatever reason."

"Potter doesn't need to know that, though," Andrea pointed out. "Is he likely to go back there?"

"He _will_ go back there," Meli replied, "although he'll be looking for something completely different. The visit will nearly cost him his life because—" She grinned suddenly, and she could see from the slight widening of the others' eyes that she looked more reptilian than human. "Because Nagini will be waiting for him there."

Kalimac arched an eyebrow. "Nagini?"

"The snake—Voldemort's familiar."

They were all staring at her, particularly the two Americans, who had no way of knowing her heritage. Collum had gone pale at the Dark Lord's name, and both Andrea and Kalimac seemed to be reevaluating her.

"That'll give us a crack at two horcruxes at once, then," Crim said, with a forced calmness. "Or rather, it'll give Potter a crack at them."

"He'll need help, though," Meli said. "If things follow their course uninterrupted, Nagini will escape unscathed. Potter will, too, which is helpful to say the least, but it will necessarily lengthen his quest."

Andrea shifted slightly. "And you're volunteering for the job, I take it?"

Her words hit Meli like a cupful of cold water and deflated her somewhat. _It's Potter's quest,_ she reminded herself. _Not yours._ She gritted her teeth. "No," she sighed after a moment. "As much as I admit I would enjoy a chance to kill that bloody snake… it _is_ up to Harry Potter. I do think that if Nagini's to die at Godric Hollow, someone else will need to be there to help him, but… no, it need not necessarily be me."

Collum's eyebrows had all but disappeared above his hairline. "Do I dare ask _why_ you feel so strongly about this?"

Meli looked at him mildly. "For all intents and purposes, you just did. And the simple answer is…" She checked an almost involuntary shiver. "I have met both You-Know-Who and his precious little snake, and of the two, I honestly prefer the former. Nagini is a heartless, sadistic, tormenting little bitch." She smiled mirthlessly. "Our run-ins were not at all… pleasant."

In point of fact, Meli had had the sneaking suspicion, even as a small child, that Nagini would have been ecstatic if offered the opportunity to torture her master's granddaughter to death horribly over a period of days or weeks. If it hadn't been for Snape's timely interference—

She found herself wondering suddenly what would come of a match-up between Nagini and one or two of the Snape house elves she'd known once upon a time; she had a feeling she didn't really want to know. Between Mortimer's love for electroshock technology, Alfred's merciless creativity, and Lavinia's skill with kitchen knives, the end result would be, among other things, one _very_ destroyed horcrux.

Kalimac cleared his throat, recalling her to the present moment. "Fortunately, it sounds like we have some time to plan that," he said. "And whichever of us _is_ there has the heads-up that Nagini's nobody's sweetheart. How about the line on destroying these things? Is that something we can work on a bit sooner?"

Meli nodded grimly. "The living horcruxes—Harry and Nagini—can be destroyed simply by killing the host. The others require more drastic means—basilisk venom or Fiend Fyre."

Collum raised his eyebrows. "And you have a line on that, do you?"

"The Chamber of Secrets," Crim said quietly. "That was a basilisk, wasn't it?"

"'Was' being the operative word," Meli replied. "Potter killed it two years ago with Gryffindor's sword, which is goblin-forged and consequently absorbs into itself only that which will make it stronger."

"Including basilisk venom," Andrea hedged.

Meli nodded. "And of course, there are also the basilisk's fangs to consider."

Crim looked amused. "So either the thing's been removed to somewhere else with its fangs intact or you're saying you know how to get into the Chamber of Secrets."

It required less effort than Meli had expected to keep a straight face and a bland eye as she met Crim's gaze. "I'm saying I've identified items capable of destroying horcruxes and their whereabouts," she countered. "Knowing is, arguably, half the battle. As previously pointed out, I'll be spending quite a lot of time at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future; I've half a mind to poke about and see what there is to find."

"What about Gryffindor's sword?" Kalimac asked.

"That'll be in Dumbledore's office," Collum said. "It's practically a token of rank. You can't be a proper headmaster of Hogwarts without the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor's sword any more than you can be Queen of England without crown, scepter, and the Stone of Scone."

Crim snorted. "The Stone's for Scotland's benefit, you ninny."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever the case, you see my meaning."

Andrea sighed. "So… it's starting to sound like the dress rehearsal for Malfoy Manor might be breaking into Dumbledore's office."

Kalimac, meanwhile, was looking just over Meli's shoulder with a strange expression that would have been more appropriately directed at her eyes. "I can see why you mentioned the fangs, though; the chances of getting to them are at least on a par with your chances for the sword."

"They might be slightly better, actually," Andrea said. "The Chamber of Secrets is likely to be less protected than Dumbledore's office—_if_ you can figure out where it is and how to get into it."

The potions teacher nodded silently but flicked his eyes to meet Meli's for the barest fraction of a second. She was no legilimens, but she caught the message loud and clear: The two of them would be talking before he left for the day.

She resisted the urge to grit her teeth. So she hadn't managed to fool him; what about the others?

Collum snorted. "And now we're back to the sewers and vents." He, at least, didn't seem suspicious, nor did Crim, who smirked and shook her head at the quip. Andrea was a harder read, but her mannerisms weren't setting off alarms—_yet_.

"There's always the Fiend Fyre, if all else fails," the Auror said. "But what about the way things would be if we kept hands-off? Potter gets the sword somehow or other, at least?"

Meli nodded. "Yes, but then he'll also promptly trade it for a goblin's help breaking into Gringotts."

Crim's jaw almost hit the table. "Bloody—_This_ is the idiot who's meant to save us from a Dark Lord?"

Collum shook his head. "No wonder our world needs outside help," he muttered. "Fate can't even manage to choose an intellectual bitch."

Meli smiled in spite of herself. "Well… Potter _was_ identified through a prophecy made by Sibyl Trelawney."

"Bloody hell." Crim stood up and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Collum called after her.

The face she turned toward him should have had a miserable hangover behind it. "To see if they pour absinthe. Anyone else like some?"

They all shook their heads, so she left the room without another word.

"So… I take it Sibyl Trelawney's a bad source?" Kalimac said.

"Suffice it to say," Meli replied, "that Harry Potter is more suited to the role of Messiah than Sibyl Trelawney is to the occupation of—"

"Anything reputable or worthwhile," Collum finished darkly. "Her identifying him says quite a bit, and little of it in his favor."

Crim returned shortly with a precarious amount of chartreuse fluid in a pint glass, and her first act on sitting down again was to down half of it.

Collum sighed. "Well, that's her out of commission for the rest of the day."

Meli shook her head. The Crim she'd known had tended to avoid the more exotic forms of drink except in cases of extreme despair over the future of humanity. For her suddenly to seek refuge in absinthe suggested that she was starting to wonder if the Wizarding world's proclaimed savior was capable of tying his trainers properly, much less defeating Voldemort.

"Don't you shake your head at me, Ailsa Sable." Crim's tone was mild. "It's lime soda."

Collum was not amused, and in case she didn't get that loud and clear from his expression, he whacked his sister upside the back of the head.

"I figured out by the time I reached the rail that it wasn't worth the side-effects," Crim went on, ignoring him. "Touching on the more pressing matters, though… If we should eliminate the need to drop by Gringotts in the first place, we may also increase Potter's chances of holding onto the sword."

"Which is comforting on one level," Andrea said, "until you suddenly realize that part of our mission now involves the constant circumventing of morons."

Crim shook her head grimly. "Send in a Gryffindor to do a Slytherin's job—"

"Hey!" Collum, the token Gryffindor in the room, glared at her, but she merely shrugged and took another swig from her glass.

"Whatever the House affiliation involved," Meli broke in firmly, "Potter is what we've got, and he's therefore what we have to work with. Bickering about Houses will get us nowhere and distracts us from the more important issue." She was well aware that if the Professor Sprout she'd known could hear her, that worthy lady would probably keel over on the spot; Meli's schoolyard disdain for Hufflepuff had lost her more points and earned her more detentions than she could count.

"Now," she continued, pushing that thought to the side, "Voldemort will return in four days, and the Ministry will begin its meddling at Hogwarts within a few weeks. We can't prevent either one, but has anyone any further inspirations for dealing with the latter?"

Both Fell twins grinned, which made Andrea raise her eyebrows while Kalimac looked slightly worried.

"Why of course, we have," Crim said cheerfully. "We couldn't forget to pay our honors to dear old Mrs. Toad."

The rest of the meeting was thankfully devoted to that much happier subject.

ooo

Meli had hoped, if without much conviction, that Kalimac would leave with everyone else at the end of the meeting, but as expected, he dawdled over his drink until Andrea and the Fells were gone.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "A question, Mr. Kalimac?"

He sighed. "You can start calling me David any time you like."

"When I'm sure you want to call me a friend after you know me, I'll consider it," she countered. "My brother taught me to be very careful with names and their usage."

He gave her a penetrating look. "If you say so." He crossed his arms and cleared his throat. "So. What's the rest of the story with the Chamber of Secrets?"

Meli smiled bitterly. "If I told you that, you'd never ask me to call you David again."

Silence fell for a moment as she met his sharp eye without flinching. He broke the soundless duel with a smile of his own. "I'll make a deal with you," he said at last.

She narrowed her eyes. "What deal?"

"I tell you what it is you're not telling me, and we axe this Miss and Mister crap."

"I doubt you could do it." She raised her chin to underline the challenge.

Kalimac grinned. "Well, I guess I can understand why you think we'd freak out that you're You-Know-Who's blood relative, but there's no real shame in being a Parseltongue." He drank the last sip of his beer and turned toward the door before Meli could speak through her shock.

"What—_**how**__?!_"

He turned his head just enough to look back at her from the corner of one eye. "That, _Ailsa,_ is for me to know and you to stew over."

She glared at him. "You bloody—infuriating—"

"David." He tossed a last grin over his shoulder then left her to seethe and fume in his wake.

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Mad props and a few eerified shudders for you, excessivelyperky. You are more prescient than probably even _you_ know. So I admit, after one and a half femenazi fanfics, I decided it was time to dabble in other areas, and I'm not really keeping one of the match-ups a secret. Given Meli's relationship with the other Snape, and therefore her associations with _any_ Snape, I don't think there would be much chance of a truly healthy romance there; it would turn really creepy, really fast, and I think she'd never feel quite okay with it. Don't give up on Severus, though. The fact that Meli wouldn't suit him doesn't rule out anyone else suiting him better. And as for David being more sane… _snicker_ Well, his insanity doesn't have a dark taint—I'll give him that much. Then, of course, there are your observations about people having to have something beyond the mission to live for once the mission's done….

Excellent point. Snarky and I have discussed that one and its fanfictional implications and applications more than probably any other facet of this twisted tale. Beyond that, I guess I'll have to side with David Kalimac: The rest is for Snarky and me to know, and anyone of a nervous temperament to bite their nails and anguish over.

Ah, yes. And you're welcome to claim those disgustingly insipid plates. It'll save me the effort of painting targets on them and buying weapons-grade barroom darts by the gross.

Glad you've continued to enjoy. Thank you so much for your thoughtful feedbacks!  
AE


	16. The Pawn and the Bishop

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I suppose it's necessarily true that there's nothing true under the sun, even in the realm of fanfiction. I was unaware until Snarky pointed it out to me (halfway through the writing of this chapter) that there was another fanfic posted seven years ago dealing with chess pawns crossing the board to become queens. The references in the following chapter were originally inspired by the Crüxshadows song "The 8th Square" and Lewis Carroll's literary crack baby _Through the Looking-Glass._ Having since looked up and read Riley's "Pawn to Queen", however, I do wish to give her credit for using this idea first, as well as to say that I'm glad to be part, however accidentally and unintentionally, of a proud HP fanfic legacy (and for anyone who hasn't read PtQ, it's worth looking up for anyone who enjoys a good SSHG ship).  
AE

**Chapter 16: The Pawn and the Bishop  
**Meli was in a properly foul mood when she got back to Hogwarts, but unfortunately, Snape was feeling talkative for once. No sooner had she tossed her now-worn rucksack onto a classroom worktable than the potions master raised the secrecy wards and cleared his throat.

"Everything is falling into place for the Third Task on Wednesday," he said without preamble. "Have you any specific plans for the evening?"

Meli snorted irritably. "Other than commando-crawling my way to the center and lying in wait to Stun Cedric Diggory at the moment of truth? Not really. I suppose I could pencil in five minutes for an appearance at a cocktail party if you've planned one, as long as you'll allow for camo dress robes with combat boots."

Snape narrowed his eyes and let out an impatient hiss. "I'm not interested in a pointless sarcastic exchange, Neshdiana."

"What a coincidence. Neither am I." She crossed her arms. "Look, I'm not in the best of humors just now. Yes, I have a plan; yes, it's a bit more sophisticated than what I've just related, though not by much. Will it be stepping on anyone's toes? I suppose I have just enough conviction in me to care at the moment, but not much more."

He wasn't mollified by her answer, but then she hadn't really expected him to be. The Snape she had known was a moody man who understood that others could be moody, as well; this one, by contrast, was more self-focused and less understanding of parallel emotional states in other people. She knew in theory that a gentle answer could turn away wrath, but at the moment, she had no handle on the best response in that direction.

"I suppose it's just as well, then," Snape replied through his teeth, "that your plans aren't at-odds with anyone else's. The headmaster, to my knowledge, has no plan at all apart from allowing things to take their course. How fortunate that we can count on _you_ to set it all right."

Meli bit back the first three replies that came to mind, then two more, and made a conscious effort not to glare at him. "I've told you already, Professor, that I have no pretensions in the Messianic direction."

"Then why stay at all?" he sneered.

"Because I have nowhere else to go," she snapped, "and because too many people I care about have already died battling this Dark Lord!"

Snape's eyes went suddenly wide, and what color he had drained from his face. His temper's building momentum came to a dead stop, as if she had knocked the wind out of him.

Meli furrowed her brow in confusion… and then she had to force a neutral mask as realization dawned.

She had just echoed back to him the very reasons he had stayed at Hogwarts, in spite of Dumbledore's ruthless treatment of him. Severus Snape, like Meli Ebony, had nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to… and Voldmort had murdered the _only_ person he had ever loved.

"I beg your pardon, Professor," she said, deliberately keeping her tone stiff. "I'm… not angry at you and have no right to take it out on you. I suppose it goes without saying that my plans are outside of Dumbledore's sanction, but… I hope they do not interfere with your own plans? I can make any necessary adjustments—"

"That will not be necessary." Snape's voice was softer now, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise, puzzlement, and of all things, gratitude. "The headmaster turned down my request to act as a referee; I'm afraid I'll be keeping the Minister of Magic entertained… at some distance from the maze."

Meli swallowed. "And he's given no indication of having any plan to save Diggory's life."

"None that I have seen."

A heavy weight settled onto Meli's shoulders, forcing her to sit on the edge of one of the benches. "It really is like stepping through to the wrong side of the looking-glass," she sighed. "The kind mentor has become the Red Queen—do this, don't do that, and all ways are my ways." That reminded her of something else, though, and she smiled suddenly. "But on reaching the Eighth Square, the pawn is made a queen." She caught Snape's dubious look and the relapse of awkwardness that accompanied it. "Lewis Carroll," she explained. "_Through the Looking-Glass_ is a chess game, with Alice as a pawn making her way across the board."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "And are you the pawn, Neshdiana, or the queen?"

Meli smiled shrewdly. "Well, if I'm not a pawn, Albus Dumbledore will be the very last to know it."

ooo

The next few days slipped innocently by, and if Meli hadn't been paying close attention, 24 June might very well have taken her by surprise. As it was, though, she was up with the sun and pacing her rooms, a nervous energy running through her and making her feel almost sick.

It was about nine in the morning when Kwippy appeared with a subdued little pop, looking oddly morose.

"Please be excusing Kwippy," the house elf all but whispered, "but the headmaster is asking for Miss Neshdiana."

Meli hadn't thought her heart could pump any faster than it was already doing, but a jolt of adrenaline kicked it up to double-time now. She halted her pacing to stare at Kwippy. "Dumbledore wants to see me?"

Kwippy nodded nervously. "Yes, Miss Neshdiana."

_He doesn't think I'm going to let Moody go through with it. He didn't believe my promise—of course, how could he? He wouldn't have kept such a promise himself in my place._

Something told her that Dumbledore was looking for more insurance than a reiterated promise, and she belatedly realized that he might just mean to take her out of commission just long enough for Crouch, Junior, to do his part and for Cedric Diggory to die.

"Well, it wouldn't do to keep him waiting, then," she said aloud. She walked to the corner as casually as she could manage and retrieved her robes, in which she'd already stowed her pain potions. "Would you do me a favor, Kwippy?"

"Yes, Miss Neshdiana."

Meli turned an innocent-looking smile on the house elf. "I was meant to run an errand for Professor Snape this morning. Would you be so kind as to tell him that I've gone to see Dumbledore, so I'll be returning a bit later than expected?"

There was a quick flash through Kwippy's eye, and for the barest second, Meli thought she was looking at Lavinia. "Yes, Miss Neshdiana."

She waited until the house elf was gone then left her rooms, but instead of walking toward the main part of the school, she turned left and headed further up the guest wing. About fifty feet along, there was a rusty suit of armor standing next to a dusty floor-to-ceiling purple velvet drape that ought to have covered a picture window. Meli ducked behind it, twisting the suit of armor's left pinky as she did, and by the time the drape fully hid her, the stone wall had given way, letting her step into a dark, dank passageway.

She felt her way along the right-hand wall until she found an empty iron sconce, which she tugged on to close the wall behind her again. Only after the stones had stopped moving did she draw her wand and whisper, "_Lumos._"

During their careers as pranksters, she and the Fell twins had discovered and made use of no fewer than two dozen secret passages built into the castle. Several were easy enough to find, and she knew for a fact that seven of them had ended up on the Marauder's Map; she had no intention of using any of those today. This particular one had required methodical research and a lot of trouble to find, and a quick look around told her that no one had used it for quite some time.

She snuffed the light and, while walking with her right hand to the wall, cast a _glamourie_ on herself. That done, she brought back the light and broke into an all-out run. She had maybe five to ten minutes before Dumbledore figured out she wasn't coming, and she wanted to be in Hogsmeade or the Forest by then.

ooo

Severus, meanwhile, was doing his level best to keep a straight face as Kwippy passed on Neshdiana's message. Reading between the lines, she had come to the same conclusion he now reached—Dumbledore was up to something, and it probably wasn't good. Even the house elf seemed to have figured out that much, judging by the way her eyes had suddenly gone shifty.

"Did she say when she would return?" he asked.

"No time, Professor Snape," Kwippy replied. "She is only coming back a little later." The eyes went even shiftier. "She is taking her robes with her."

Severus nodded. "Very well. Fortunately, there's nothing terribly time-critical on her shopping list."

The house elf somehow managed a curtsy in her tea towel and popped out of existence, leaving Severus to narrow his eyes and think it over.

The fact that Neshdiana had sent a message about a nonexistent errand told him that she suspected Dumbledore of being up to no good. Now that he thought about it, of course, he should have expected the headmaster to want some special assurance that Neshdiana wouldn't interfere with Moody's imposter; it simply stood to reason.

So what did she expect Severus to do about it? He'd made it clear that he wanted Dumbledore kept ignorant of their alliance, so she shouldn't be expecting him to charge off to her rescue. She didn't strike him as someone who would knowingly walk into a trap in hopes of being rescued on the grounds of a cryptic message, though… So what was she doing, and what was he meant to do about it? And why had Kwippy specifically mentioned the robes?

As if that was a cue, the house elf suddenly reappeared. "Professor Snape, Professor Dumbledore is wanting to see you." Again with the shifty eyes. "And he is asking if Kwippy knows where Miss Neshdiana is being."

_That_ was extracurricular information, to be sure, but it sent the pieces falling into place. Snape smirked, wondering what Neshdiana had done to secure the house elf's loyalty; he had no doubt that Kwippy had just officially joined the ranks of those who knew more than they told Dumbledore.

"Very well."

So Neshdiana was on the run, and Dumbledore was too smart to take his Potions teacher out of others' sight so close to the Dark Lord's return—two indisputable facts. Unless he was very much mistaken, he was in for quite the interesting conversation with the headmaster.

ooo

The passageway spit Meli out in a back alley near the Boar's Head, and from there she had little trouble mingling with pedestrians in the town long enough to reach a road leading toward the Forest. As appealing as it might be to lie low in Hogsmeade, where she could eat and possibly overhear useful gossip, there were too many eyes in the town. The Forest was safer, if only because none of its inhabitants were likely to betray her presence to anyone outside.

As soon as she was under cover of the trees, she paused just long enough to Disillusion herself, and then she struck out in the general direction of the place Bane had issued his warning. The hike would take her far enough into the Forest that only someone like Hagrid would stand a chance of finding her… and it would kill two of the many boring hours standing between her and the time she planned to sneak into the maze.

ooo

Dumbledore was not amused.

Severus entered the headmaster's office to find him in the closest thing to a towering rage of which Dumbledore was capable.

"You asked to see me?" He was proud of that mild tone and the effect it produced; it was a rare occasion when he had an opportunity to needle Dumbledore.

"Neshdiana has gone missing!" the headmaster fumed.

Severus raised his eyebrows. "It's barely nine-thirty in the morning. Perhaps she went for a short stroll—"

"On the day she knows Voldemort will return?" Dumbledore's nose flushed so red it practically glowed. "I doubt it."

"You've been to her rooms, then, and know that she's gone?"

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "I have ways of determining who is and is not in the castle."

"As well as their reasons for not being there, I suppose." Severus had a hard time not showing how much he was enjoying himself, but it was a little easier now that Dumbledore had all but confirmed that he had his own version of a Marauder's Map.

"There are only so many reasons she _would_ go off with such precise timing," the headmaster said acidly. "I wouldn't think that a _Slytherin_ would need any further explanation than that!"

He said _Slytherin_ the way a Muggle might say _dog shit._ Severus bristled but didn't rise to the bait. "By her own account, Neshdiana is a Gryffindor."

"And you believe her?" Dumbledore looked down his nose at Severus with contempt. "That, I suppose, will explain how she was able to sneak away in the first place!"

The anger in Severus' eyes as he glared at him was reflexive and real. "Do _not_ question my intrepidity, _Headmaster_," he said coldly. "Let me remind you that _you_ chose to place her as a thorn in my flesh, without specific instructions or powers of action." He gave Dumbledore a twisted sneer. "She's shown some ability at detecting and disabling spy-wards"—He could tell from the look in Dumbledore's eye that the headmaster had planted several and that Neshdiana had found them all—"so what would you have me do to ensure that she didn't leave undetected at nine in the morning? Sleep with her?" He snorted. "You of all people know just how charming I am, even _if_ I were so inclined. I would be lying, castrated, in a pool of my own blood, and she would still be missing."

"She must not be allowed to tamper with Moody!" Dumbledore shouted, drawing himself up to tower over Severus. Several of the portraits shifted uneasily, and Phineas Nigellus rolled his eyes and began stuffing his ears with cotton. "What do you propose we do about it?"

Severus sighed. "Headmaster, _why_ do you think I requested a position as maze referee tonight? Neshdiana's expressed concerns were for Cedric Diggory's life, and I will grant her some credit there. If her only purpose is to save Diggory, well and good. If, however, she made a move against Crouch or the Cup, I might have been in a position to check her." He knew his eyes were glittering, and he added a smirk for effect. "Or did you think that I _sympathized_ with her and took her entirely at her word?"

Dumbledore eyed Severus narrowly, and the potions master saw with satisfaction that gears were now turning in a proper direction. For a conniving, manipulative bastard, Dumbledore was sometimes surprisingly easy to maneuver.

"Very well," the headmaster said. "Perhaps someone with more diplomatic tendency should attend to Minister Fudge. I'll speak with Philias directly."

Severus nodded and turned as if to go, then paused and looked back to quirk an eyebrow at Dumbledore. "By the by, Headmaster… _Is_ there any plan in place for Diggory?"

The older man's eyes were positively smoldering now. "Neshdiana herself made the point that she came to us several months early, Severus," he hissed. "That should be answer enough for you."

The potions master nodded coolly, but inwardly he was screaming in hateful outrage. "I suppose it is. And now if you'll excuse me"—he flicked his eyes to the clock and away from the man who, in this moment, he would have liked to kill—"I have a roomful of skulls full of mush to attend to. Good morning."

ooo

About three hours before dinner, Meli started creeping through the Forest toward the erstwhile quidditch pitch. If she emerged during dinner, the chances of her being unnoticed were improved—but Dumbledore would know that, too. Even if he had no idea where she'd gone to ground, he knew as well as she did that her ultimate destination had to be the maze, and she had to be there by a certain time. It would actually be best, then, to sneak out before he expected her, just in case he decided to post someone to look out for anything odd.

She reached the Forest's edge within an hour and had a good look around before coming out from cover. Snape's counterpart, Zarekael, and Raven had all taught her caution, and her own adventures as a spy had taught her paranoia; she wasn't about to get sloppy now. Once she was reasonably sure that she was alone, she retreated about fifty feet, made sure her Disillusionment and the _glamourie_ beneath it held, and then dropped to the ground and slowly slid herself out of cover, making as little noise as possible.

The maze was within sight, but it took her most of another hour to get there. She hadn't been lying when she'd told Snape that she intended to commando-crawl in, but she was also a little less practiced at it than an actual commando would be. She took her time, stopping at every unknown sound and primed for any sort of trouble.

There were anti-tampering wards protecting the maze, of course, but she had the advantage of knowing where in the walls there were referees' emergency entrances. The first time she'd lived through these events, the _Daily Prophet_ had included a diagram of the maze as part of one of the stories speculating about the events of the evening. McGonagall had entered the maze to find Viktor Krum Stunned through a portal near the Forest. Meli bypassed it in favor of one further away—the one Hagrid had used to find Fleur. She had no idea how much detail Dumbledore suspected her of knowing, but she didn't intend to find out through a stupid mistake.

She found Hagrid's entrance after going past it twice, and even then it was a pain to open; the wards seemed to think it was too early for anyone to need in. She stared at it a moment, trying to think out the best way of convincing the wards otherwise without tripping a security flag, but all thoughts fled at the unmistakable sound of someone approaching.

Meli immediately dropped to the ground and cast a Do-Not-Notice charm over herself. She had just enough time to wonder idly if she was putting a strain on the spells already in place by piling more on top of them, before the ersatz Mad-Eye Moody came hobbling up, TriWizard Cup in hand.

_Of course,_ she thought. _He's come to put the Cup at the center._

It was more tempting than she liked to hex or kill him on the spot, but a rash action like that would only increase Dumbledore's scrutiny of her and—as the Machiavellian so-and-so himself had pointed out—it might not prevent Voldemort's return in any case. There was already going to be hell to pay for her going on the lam; best not to make it even worse on herself.

_My concern is Cedric Diggory,_ she told herself firmly. _And Barty Crouch, Junior, is nothing more or less than my ticket in—the means to my end, and nothing else._

Moody's imposter, meanwhile, had pulled his wand and was muttering some password at the portal. It opened with a loud rustling of leaves, and Meli used the noise to cover any sound of her standing up. Crouch stepped inside the maze, and she followed, barely getting through before the leaves closed in again behind her.

Crouch set off at a leisurely walking pace, and Meli followed him as far as the first turning. Once there, she intentionally chose a different way to limit both the temptation to go back on her word and the chances of Crouch discovering and dispatching her. She had enough time to find her way to the center once he was gone, and in any case, she preferred to see to Diggory before he reached that point.

That meant, of course, that either Potter would have to dispatch the Acromantula by himself or she would have to help him by some covert means. Meli gritted her teeth, as she had done each time she'd had that thought over the past fortnight. The Boy Who Lived had incredible luck, to be sure, but he didn't necessarily have the know-how to augment it here and now—he was only a fourth year, and not the best student in any case.

Well, spiders weren't her favorite things to deal with, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve if she should need them. She made another turn, then another, and then went to ground again; the chances of Crouch tripping over her were now slim to none, but even with a Do-Not-Notice charm in place, he could glance idly in her direction and see her through five walls and two disguise charms, thanks to Moody's magic eye.

She gave him an hour to do his thing and get out before moving again. It was down to the last hour before people started crowding into the stands, and she had just that long to find Hagrid's beloved Blast-Ended Skrewt. She knew for a fact that Diggory would encounter it; if she could Stun him and then deal with the Skrewt, she could be reasonably sure of his being safely out of the way. Potter would find Diggory and the Skrewt both out of commission, and she knew he would send up sparks for the former and chalk up the latter to just one more eerie lack of obstacles.

Dumbledore might be irritated with her, but he and Snape were really the only ones who _could_ suspect someone apart from Crouch. The false Moody wouldn't be living long enough to defend himself against that additional charge, anyway.

She shivered involuntarily at that thought and wondered, not for the first time, if she ought to have told them about the Dementor's Kiss. Dumbledore would call her on the carpet for keeping the information to herself—that was if she was lucky; more likely, he'd turn her over to Filch for slow torture and dismemberment. After all, Crouch's testimony before the Wizengamot might have been invaluable toward proving the truth of what Potter said, and the Wizarding world could have prepared for war a year sooner.

That was the theory, anyway, but Avallach's information and her own gut told her otherwise. Somehow, if she had warned them, Dumbledore or Fudge would still manage to muck things up. The headmaster might do his very best, with Potter and Crouch bolstering his credibility, but Fudge was too much of a dunderhead to react properly. The present Minister of Magic could look Voldemort in the eye and, with no magical compulsion whatever, swear that no Dark Lord existed to pose a threat; he was too blinded by power and comfort, and too set on his particular course. Dementor's Kiss or no, the fix was in for his paranoid response, just as much as it was in for Umbridge's appointment to teach in a few months' time.

_But just try explaining that to the Looking-Glass Dumbledore,_ she thought sourly.

She didn't even want to think about explaining it to Snape.

She came around a bend and saw the Skrewt's back. It didn't seem to have heard her coming, and she had no intention of pushing her luck. She sat down silently in the grass, her wand at the ready, and settled in to wait.

It was going to be a very long night; she could only hope that Diggory survived it and that his survival would be enough to carry her through the rest of it without getting _too_ depressed.


	17. The Third Task, Revised

**Chapter 17: The Third Task, Revised**  
_…And now! Tam saw an unco sight!/Warlocks and witches in a dance!/Nae cotillon brent new frae France/But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels/Put life and mettle in their heels./A winnock-bunker in the east/There sat auld Nick, in shape of beast—/A touzie-tyke, black, grim, and large!/To gie them music was his charge/He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl/Till roof and rafters a' did dirl…_

Meli moved slowly to rub at her eyes, without missing a beat in her mental recitation. It seemed that any time she ended up skulking or hiding out for more than a few minutes together, her brain automatically seized on the opportunity to prove that it still remembered "Tam O'Shanter" from beginning to end. Give it twenty more minutes, and she'd be halfway through "Thanatopsis", which was just as long but far less interesting.

She glanced to her right and suppressed a snort. Sitting as she was within ten feet of a fire-farting monstrosity, even Burns' account of Tam stumbling over a witches' revel with the Devil playing bagpipes on the church altar paled by comparison. Maybe "Thanatopsis", which translated roughly to "meditation on death", was an appropriate mood-setter, after all—except, of course, that death was the outcome she was hoping to avoid.

_…As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious/The mirth and fun grew fast and furious/the piper loud and louder blew;/The dancers quick and quicker flew—_

The recitation was interrupted by two short whistle blasts, and Meli felt her heart pounding suddenly louder and more quickly as a fresh surge of adrenaline hit her veins.

Potter and Diggory were in the maze.

To her right, the Skrewt stirred and started snuffling the air suspiciously….

And then it began to turn toward her.

Meli swallowed hard and held her breath as she got to her feet as slowly and quietly as she could. She was, she reminded herself, technically invisible, but she had a sinking feeling that the Skrewt might be inclined to trust its nose over its eyes.

The thing finished its turn and looked straight at her, and unless her read of its mannerisms was way off, it didn't want to say hello and make friends.

_Not good. Very bad._

Two more short whistle blasts sounded, but the Skrewt didn't seem to notice them.

Meli took a deep breath and one step backward as she flicked her wand in a silent Stunning spell. It hit the Skrewt square between the eyes… And the Skrewt promptly went from unfriendly to mad.

_Figures._ She side-stepped quickly before it could retaliate and sent of the first hex that came to mind.

She barely heard the last two whistle blasts from the maze entrance; they were lost in a loud pop, followed by a distressed quack, and Meli looked down in satisfaction to see a _very_ confused duck.

_Too bad I'll never have the chance to thank Raven for teaching me that one._

Any further thought in that direction was cut off by the sound of someone running towards her. She turned just in time to see Cedric Diggory, and her Stun blast caught him just as he first saw the duck. He hit the ground, looking every bit as confused as the erstwhile Skrewt had done.

Meli took a deep breath and tried to slow the pounding of her heart, but it was several minutes before she felt a noticeable difference. She heard some muffled shouts that sounded like they might have come from Potter, then silence. She waited… waited, watching the duck waddle around the prone form of Diggory, completely oblivious to her presence as it fluffed its wings and quacked to itself.

She was finally breathing normally again when piercing screams shattered the silence and set her heart to racing once more. This time, though, she got it firmly under control with a wash of logic—it was only Fleur Delacour, who (according to the _Daily Prophet_, anyway) had encountered a particularly sadistic boggart. If memory served, Fleur would faint from shock and come to just in time for Crouch to Stun her.

_She's all right_, Meli told herself firmly. _She'll _be_ all right—apart from being a lily-livered nancy, she's just fine. Potter's the article now._

Fifteen minutes crawled by before Potter appeared, and her brain, having nothing better to do, went back to the adventures of Tam O'Shanter and his poor horse Meg. The duck, instead of waddling off as she'd expected it to do, stayed nearby, apparently feeling that a full inspection of the unconscious Diggory was in order. Meli shook her head but watched with idle amusement as it climbed slowly onto the Hufflepuff's leg and waddled up to stand on his back.

That, naturally, was when Potter came on the scene. He rounded the corner just in time to see the duck come to a halt between Diggory's shoulder blades with (in Meli's opinion, anyway) a self-satisfied smirk on its bill. Potter came to an abrupt halt, staring at Diggory and the duck in horror, and Meli shoved a hand in her mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. What else _could_ Potter conclude, based on the evidence, than that the duck that was even now staring him down had somehow been responsible for taking Diggory down?

He slowly raised his wand. _"Stupefy!"_

The poor duck dropped like a stone, and Potter let out a sigh of relief before shooting up red sparks and continuing on his way, Meli now on his heels.

The boy, she soon learned, had a gift for finding every single dead-end there was; she got very good at ducking to the side just in time to get out of his way as he wheeled about to try a different turning. If he hadn't known the Compass Spell, she didn't think he'd have had a chance at reaching the center before midnight.

According to what she'd heard afterward, Potter would meet up with a Sphinx shortly before reaching the center, but after ten minutes, she began to wonder if she had somehow changed something critical.

Just as she was starting to get properly nervous, Potter turned left and saw the plinth holding the TriWizard Cup—and Meli saw the Acromantula coming at him. Potter, eyes on the prize, hadn't noticed it yet, and Meli made the most of that opportunity.

She raised her wand and silent-cast Raven's favorite hex, pouring as much energy into it as she could. The immense spider halted and began to writhe, and Meli cast the hex again. There was a sudden pop and a drawn-out, agonized quack—

And only then did the Boy Who Lived notice the other visible creature present. The duck stared up at him and gave a bewildered, almost pleading quack as it started to waddle towards him.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Potter said, drawing with his right hand and reaching for the Cup with his left.

He caught hold of the Cup before he'd brought his wand to bear—and then the portkey activated, and he disappeared.

Meli collapsed to her knees and fought the almost overwhelming urge to burst into tears of relief. The near-compulsion passed quickly, though, when she remembered that Potter was in for the worst night of his life and Voldemort's return was now imminent—and she had no idea what might happen to her once the Dark Lord started casting Unforgivables.

She climbed slowly to her feet and headed for the front of the maze.

ooo

She got out more quickly than she'd expected and ducked around the side that Flitwick was meant to be watching. It would mean a longer walk back to the school, but she'd be able to keep the spectators between her and Moody's magic eye. That he hadn't done something to her so far told her that either he hadn't noticed her presence or he didn't consider her harmful to the cause, but now that she had a choice in the matter, she preferred to remain unseen.

Once inside the castle, she stumbled slowly to her rooms and collapsed in a heap on her bed. It suddenly occurred to her that Tam O'Shanter's witches had it easy—they could keep up a chase, running on foot at a speed equivalent to a horse's gallop, for an indefinite long period of time without being tired or slowing down. This witch, though, hadn't run nearly so fast or for nearly so long, and she was thoroughly exhausted.

To be fair, she'd been awake since six in the morning and hadn't eaten since the previous day. That, combined with a series of adrenaline rushes, was bound to take a toll on even a boring day.

With a sigh, she turned her wand on herself and dropped all of her charms before she summoned Kwippy.

"Miss Neshdiana!" the house elf squeaked. "You is looking very badly!"

Meli let out a tired laugh in spite of herself. "Thanks, Kwippy. You're looking radiant, as well."

The house elf hopped from foot to foot and wrung her hands. "Oh, Miss Neshdiana, Professor Dumbledore is worrying for you. He is asking everyone where you is being!"

"Running errands, of course." Meli let out another laugh, but this one was mirthless and bitter. "Where else would I be on such a lovely day?"

"Is Miss Neshdiana hungry?"

Her stomach chose that moment to rumble traitorously. "Suppose I am."

"They is all being down at the maze now," Kwippy said, "but Professor Dumbledore is saying we is to tell him the instant you is coming home. You is speaking to Professor Dumbledore now?"

"At his earliest convenience," Meli replied, knowing that that wouldn't be for hours yet. "Any chance of dinner in the meantime?"

Kwippy gave her a disapproving look as Lavinia surfaced again. "Ooh! How is you living and healthy without Kwippy taking care—! Miss Neshdiana is not being good!"

Meli managed to lift her head for a befuddled look at Kwippy. She'd had her run-ins with house elves, to be sure, but being mother-lectured by one was a new experience. "Yes, ma'am."

"If Kwippy is bringing dinner, Miss Neshdiana is eating all of it, or no pudding!"

_Can I hold you to that?_ Impossible to say _that_, of course, but it was tempting. "Yes, ma'am."

Kwippy gave a sharp nod and disappeared, coming back less than a minute later with a full tray—soup, bread, meat, potatoes….

Meli sat up and raised her eyebrows. "What, no biscuits?" She tried to sound meek, but it really was too good to be true.

Kwippy gave her a defiant look. "Biscuits is for people who is being good!"

_Note to self: Be bad more often._ Aloud, she settled for a quiet "Yes, ma'am."

Under Kwippy's watchful eye, Meli cleaned every plate, and under Meli's watchful eye, the minutes on the clock crept slowly by. She couldn't remember exactly when the seizures had come on before—it wasn't like she'd thought to check her watch at the time. How long before she knew for sure?

Kwippy suddenly went wide-eyed and stiff. "They is needing Kwippy now!" she said, and disappeared without another word.

Meli furrowed her brow but stood up without hesitation. Pausing just long enough to Disillusion herself again, she crept out to the corridor and followed it toward the entry hall. If Potter was back, there might very well be chaos on the quidditch pitch—even without Diggory's corpse in tow, his entrance was sure to be a dramatic one—but little if any sound of it should reach the castle. If she was to know anything for sure, she would have to check Moody's office. Kwippy's disappearance suggested that something had happened… but what that was remained to be seen.

She hesitated, though. What if Voldemort was moving more slowly than she thought? What if Kwippy had just been needed to help with dishes? A seizure could still be coming, and she would be in no condition to do much of anything helpful if it did.

"Made a potion… got his body back…"

Meli froze as the ghostly words floated towards her, and she recovered just in time to pull back around the corner as Moody's imposter half-dragged, half-carried Potter past her.

She closed her eyes. It had happened then—Voldemort was back… and his link to her was well and truly severed.

And now she had a choice. She could either follow Crouch and Potter and serve as little more than a spectator for what was about to follow… or she could go back to her rooms and snatch a few hours' sleep before facing the wrath of Albus Dumbledore.

A Gryffindor wouldn't hesitate to go up to Moody's office to watch and maybe even to help, if the opportunity presented itself.

Meli sighed but didn't even pause as she turned away and walked slowly back to her quarters.


	18. Barty Crouch, Junior

**Chapter 18: Barty Crouch, Junior  
**"Severus!"

Severus tore his eyes away from the crowd of screaming people to look at Dumbledore. "Yes, Headmaster?"

"Harry's gone, and so is Moody."

Severus clenched his jaw, biting back the most obvious reply. _Why, Albus, you sound _surprised._ You almost have me convinced that you haven't seen this coming for four weeks._

Granted, without the distraction of a dead body to cover for him, Crouch had probably had to be a little more resourceful in grabbing Potter, but not much; it seemed as if the crowd had been waiting for some excuse to go baffy over something, and Potter's sudden appearance, screaming and bleeding everywhere, had given them that excuse.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, locked eyes with him. "Come with me."

"Yes, sir."

They picked up McGonagall on their way through the crowd, and as they hurried back to the school, Dumbledore filled her in on the official story—to wit, that the TriWizard Cup _appeared_ somehow to have been a portkey, that Potter had said something about Voldemort being back, and that Moody had taken Potter away after Dumbledore had told Potter to stay put, all of which led the headmaster to _infer_ that Moody wasn't Moody at all.

Severus listened in silence, positive that his blood was boiling hot enough to send steam pouring out his ears. His only consolation was that, whether by Neshdiana's interference or through some other means, Potter hadn't returned with Cedric Diggory's corpse. He strongly suspected, though, that Dumbledore's greatest relief was that Voldemort was back and Crouch was still alive.

McGonagall, of course, didn't know about Dumbledore's dark side and so fell for his good-hearted spiel without a murmur. She was the first to draw her wand as they approached Moody's office, with Severus and Dumbledore immediately following suit. The sound of Moody's manic voice led them down the last stretch of corridor.

"We'll see who's mad, now that the Dark Lord has returned, with me at his side! He is back, Harry Potter, you did not conquer him—and now—I conquer you!"

The door to Moody's office was closed and locked, but Dumbledore raised his wand to it. _"Stupefy!"_

The door exploded inward with a red flash of light, and when the smoke and splinters cleared, there was the ersatz Moody, lying unconscious on his face, and there beside his form sat Harry Potter, white as a sheet and bleeding from several new wounds.

Dumbledore was in full terror-inspiring mode, and Severus almost pitied Potter, who stared fearfully at this new face of his kind mentor. The headmaster crossed to Crouch and kicked him onto his back with more force than was strictly necessary; Severus, having no wish to see more of the despicable act, turned away, preferring to look at his own ugliness in Moody's Foe-Glass. McGonagall, of course, assumed the role of ministering angel and tried to get Potter out of there with all possible haste.

Dumbledore put the skids on that, though.

"Dumbledore," she protested, "he ought to—look at him—he's been through enough tonight—"

"He will stay, Minerva," the headmaster said curtly, "because he needs to understand."

_As if he could possibly understand,_ Severus thought bitterly. _The boy could be as clever as his friend Granger, and he would still be incapable of understanding what is truly happening because you keep him deliberately blinded. He's a pawn to you, and as such, he will never know or understand anything that you don't choose to make known. His wings will be forever clipped—and he probably won't live long enough to realize it._

"Severus," Dumbledore said behind him, "please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here."

Severus gave them his best neutral mask and then departed in silence, McGonagall right behind him. He had a feeling that he really didn't want to know what either the dog or the house elf had to do with anything, but then, he also suspected that Dumbledore would be happy to enlighten him—in the most troubling way and at the worst time possible.

Their respective errands took about the same amount of time, so Severus and Winky reached the office again just as McGonagall did, and just in time to see the final transformation of Crouch into his true form.

"Barty Crouch," he said aloud, far more calmly than if it had been a true surprise. Whatever doubts he might have harbored about Neshdiana's foresight were defeated now, in the face of this evidence.

"Good heavens!" McGonagall gasped.

A sharp shriek set all of Severus' nape hairs on-end as Winky shoved past him to run to the exposed Death Eater's side. "Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?" Severus couldn't decide if she looked more like a pint-sized grieving lover or a mourning pet as she flung herself on Crouch's chest. "You is killed him!" she all but sobbed. "You is killed him! You is killed master's son!"

It would have been the work of days to calm down the hysterical Winky; Dumbledore didn't even bother to try. He ordered her aside in a bored tone and asked instead for the Veritaserum, which Severus handed over without a word. The headmaster dosed Crouch before reviving him… and then the interrogation began.

Severus listened carefully as Crouch's confession, punctuated by Winky's histrionics, flowed out, and taking into account that Neshdiana's knowledge had been second-hand, it still lined up fact for fact. There were things she hadn't mentioned—Crouch sending up the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, Voldemort having subjected the elder Crouch to the Imperius, how Crouch had gone about kidnapping and replacing Moody—but she had also said that there were details unknown to her, and not all of it had been relevant to their conversation at the time. She had been right about Crouch plundering his potions stores.

_I was right to trust her, at least to this extent._ He wasn't so foolish as to think that she hadn't held _something_ back; in fact, unless it concerned his own well-being, he would have respected her less for not holding on to a trump card.

He did have one nasty shock, when the name Wormtail came up. He knew the Marauders' nicknames, and he hadn't forgotten that Wormtail was Peter Pettigrew, who was meant to be thirteen years dead, courtesy of Sirius Black. If Pettigrew was a live and in a position to help Crouch attack Alastor Moody, that made Pettigrew a Death Eater… and shot one of Severus' most cherished beliefs about Black straight to hell. If Pettigrew was alive, Black couldn't have killed him, and if Pettigrew was a Death Eater, there was suddenly a very real possibility that Black was not.

It threw things into a new perspective, one that Severus didn't much care for. He had known—flat-out _known_—that Dumbledore had somehow engineered Black's escape the year before, and he had even scraped up the gumption to ask about it. It would have taken more than a simple explanation to satisfy him, of course, but Dumbledore hadn't attempted _any_ explanation at all. Instead Severus had received a lecture on burying hatchets and had then been told to nose out of what didn't concern him.

He really would rather have heard the hateful truth willingly given by Dumbledore, instead of pried out of a conniving scumbag under the effects of Veritaserum.

Crouch, meanwhile, didn't seem any less manic for having spilled the beans; if anything, he looked twice as mad now as he smiled and whispered, "My master's plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards."

His head fell, while Winky carried on with her sobbing and wailing. Dumbledore didn't bother to hide his disgusted contempt as he stood up and flicked a meaningful glance at Severus.

And then he was back to being a general, barking orders. McGonagall assumed the duty of Crouch's guard, and Severus was dispatched to find first Madame Pomfrey and then Cornelius Fudge.

He was glad to leave the room, really. After everything that had just happened, and with everything that was now spinning through his mind, he didn't think he could stand any company just now—with, oddly enough, the possible exception of Neshdiana. At the moment, she seemed like the closest thing to a kindred soul he was likely to find.

ooo

Cornelius Fudge was, as Dumbledore had expected, very eager to question Barty Crouch, Jr., himself, but Severus ran into a snag almost immediately.

"Minister," he said, forcing an uncharacteristic reasonableness to his tone, "while I understand your concerns, I assure you that your safety will not be an issue. The prisoner is bound, disarmed, and unconscious, and Professor McGonagall is guarding him. I'll be happy to—"

"If Moody and Potter couldn't be fully protected," Fudge huffed, "what makes you so sure you can protect _me_? If you couldn't even manage the safety of two ordinary citizens, how can you assure me that the Minister of Magic—"

"With all due respect," Severus said through his teeth, "the man has survived Azkaban once. I doubt the presence of a Dementor will cow him more than his present circumstances have already done."

Fudge gave him an ugly triumphant smirk. "Then you can't object to my bringing one with me for my own peace of mind."

Severus gritted his teeth. "Minister, the headmaster has made it quite clear—"

"The headmaster assumes a little too much latitude," Fudge interrupted again, "and in any event, this is a rather exceptional case. I _am_ the Minister of Magic, and I _will_ assert my privilege of office to override the headmaster's dictates where my own safety is concerned."

Severus narrowed his eyes in an obvious silent protest, but there was really nothing more to say. He nodded curtly, waited for the Minister to collect his escort, and then led the way to Moody's office, keeping as much distance between himself and the Dementor as he could.

It was impossible to be far enough away from it to escape the thoughts, memories, and feelings its presence conjured… but at least he stood a chance of making it to his destination without collapsing and sobbing in front of them.

McGonagall of course sensed them coming before she saw them, and she met them in the doorway.

"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded, her eyes turning to rest squarely on Severus. "You know Dumbledore's orders about the Dementors! He would never agree to this!"

"And I took great pains to remind the Minister of that, Minerva," he replied coldly. "Unfortunately—"

"Unfortunately for his ego, Dumbledore is not above the Minister of Magic!" Fudge growled. "It is my prerogative to bring my own protection with me!"

McGonagall set her jaw and squared her shoulders, blocking all access to the room beyond. "And it is my prerogative as deputy headmistress, acting on the headmaster's orders, to guard this young man—both to keep him from harming others and to keep him from harm. This was _not_ what Dumbledore had in mind—"

The Dementor, meanwhile, had been sniffing the air from behind Severus' shoulder, and it now ended the argument by flying forward, shoving McGonagall aside like a featherweight, and darting into the room beyond. It had its rotting hands locked on Crouch's face before any of them could react, and by the time Severus and McGonagall were moving toward it, it was already too late.

McGonagall whipped back around, away from the horrifying sight, to fix burning eyes on the self-satisfied Fudge. "Damn it all to _bloody hell_!" she fumed, her face reddening with an impotent rage. "Do you realize what you've _done_?!"

Fudge looked down his nose at her, which in Severus' view made him either ridiculously self-confident or suicidally stupid—most likely the latter. "And now if you'd be so kind as to take me to Dumbledore?"

McGonagall was too infuriated to speak, so Severus cleared his throat and looked balefully at Fudge. "As soon as you're good enough to escort your pet abomination out of the castle, Minister," he said through his teeth, "we'll be happy to _consider_ it."

Fudge looked like he wanted to argue the point, but one glance at the near-homicidal McGonagall choked that impulse. "Well, I suppose there's no need for it anymore."

McGonagall's reply sounded more appropriate for a Gryffindor third year and was unrepeatable, to say the very least. Severus forced a thin smile. "You're too kind, Minister."

Dumbledore was going to kill them all, he thought darkly as the four of them left the office.

And it was a toss-up between the potions master and the headmaster as to who would have the pleasure of killing Neshdiana.

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Here ends the Big Post that will hopefully cover my move, Internet hook-up time, and also a random trip to Minnesota to visit two of the roommates who first dragged me to the theater to see_ Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ all those years ago. Don't worry, it's not the end, not by a loooong shot (we haven't got to the Plot Bunny O' Doom yet, after all), and I'll be back to posting soon enough.

Ah, yes. And one additional disclaimer that didn't find its way in at the beginning. If you either recognize or can locate dialogue given in the last chapter and this one within _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_, it's obviously the creation of J.K. Rowling, not of either Ancalimë Erendis or Snarky Sneak. Just in case you wondered, cared, or were considering filing suit.

Have a lovely July, everyone! I'll see you in August.  
AE


	19. Punishment

**Chapter 19: Punishment  
**If Meli had bothered with more than a half-hearted guess at when Dumbledore would get around to calling her up to his office, she would have put her money on about two in the morning, and she would have been right. It was five minutes past two when the fireplace crackled to life and Dumbledore's voice jolted her out of a very pleasant sound sleep.

"Neshdiana!" he boomed. "I wonder if you would be good enough to join me in my office?"

Meli rolled off the bed and landed in a crouch to face the headmaster's floating green head. She gave him a thin, inscrutable smile while her brain attempted a cold start. "But of course, Headmaster."

A sharp rap sounded at the door while she was still speaking, and Dumbledore, evidently hearing it, smirked. "Excellent. Severus will escort you—and unless I'm much mistaken, that will be him at the door."

_Unless it's a cutlery salesman,_ Meli thought sourly. _They always come 'round at two in the morning, don't you know._ "Your clairvoyance amazes," she muttered as she stood and walked out of her room to answer the front door.

_Repeat after me: Dementor's Kiss? What Dementor's Kiss?_ Not that those words or anything like them would prevent all hell from breaking loose any minute now.

"Professor Snape." She nodded a greeting and forced a smirk at the flicker of surprise that dashed through his eyes; she must look more awake than he'd expected. "The headmaster just told me you'd be coming by."

"No doubt." Snape's tones were even more clipped than usual. "I don't suppose you have any idea why he wishes to see you?"

She gave him a patient look to mask the sadness-tinged self-reproach twisting through her. Snape was doing a fairly good job of hiding it, but she saw the telltale signs of masked fury; right at this moment, he really and truly hated her. "I'm sure he's not entirely pleased with me for running off instead of meeting with him this morning when he requested it. Fortunately, I can defend myself by pointing out that at no point did I go back on my word and tamper with Crouch."

Snape narrowed his eyes and gave her a searching look. "And you have no further expectation than that?"

Meli furrowed her brow in cautious confusion. "What do you—has something more happened?"

He was silent a moment, just long enough to make her sweat, and then he leaned in to speak quietly in her ear. "You're good enough to fool the headmaster, but you can't fool me. You and I _will_ be talking again soon, Miss Gaunt."

Her stomach churned, and she heard the echoes of a different Dumbledore's voice, brittle with fury and disappointment, whisper through her mind. _How much is it worth to you, this genuine reaction that you deemed so necessary?_

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, somehow keeping her voice steady. "It was nothing personal. Please understand, though—I had to try, for your sake."

Snape's features hardened. "Plausible deniability is a form of _noblesse oblige_ which Slytherins bestow on Gryffindors, not the other way around. I am quite capable of keeping my own counsel, particularly where important secrets are concerned."

"Sir, I never doubted—"

"The headmaster is waiting." He turned on his heel and led the way. Meli swallowed but had no choice but to walk after him in miserable silence.

The Severus Snape she had known for so long would have understood and maybe even approved, but this man was not (and probably never would be) that friend.

She wished now that Avallach had been kind enough to send _someone_ she knew with her. She was more alone in this moment than she had been when the bane was still in effect.

ooo

Dumbledore's fury was more impressive and less quiet than Snape's, and it had fed itself with hours' worth of frustrations and problems. He didn't have a dead student to deal with, but that, it seemed, had done little to free him from concerns. Karkaroff was missing, Crouch was worse than dead, Fudge had made broad hints about the government assuming control of the school, Potter was injured and traumatized, everyone was in uproar—and oh, yeah, Voldemort was back.

Neither Meli nor Snape managed a word; once the door opened and Meli stepped into the room, Dumbledore let loose. As expected, he didn't come around to her going missing until near the end of his tirade. He was far more angry about her not having mentioned the Dementor's Kiss.

She was painfully aware of Snape's sharp eyes on her the whole time, and while she knew that she couldn't convince _him_ of her ignorance, she gave it her best shot. For all his fuming, Dumbledore was watching her, too, and Snape had said that she'd be able to convince the headmaster (albeit in a backhanded sort of way). By the time Dumbledore's heated accusations came to a halt, she was staring at him in pale, wide-eyed horror.

"The Dementor's Kiss," she breathed, after a long moment of deadly silence. "I—that can't be right!"

Dumbledore looked to Snape, who looked coldly at her. "As an eyewitness of the event, Miss Gaunt," the potions master sneered, "I can assure you that it did, in fact, happen."

She turned haunted eyes on him, too much absorbed by her role of numbed shock to do much more than flinch slightly at that name. "But he testified," she whispered. "Before the Wizengamot—he told them—"

"He survived in your timeline?" Dumbledore sounded skeptical.

"Of course, he did!" Meli's eyes were back on the headmaster immediately. "How else could our Dumbledore have convinced Fudge that Voldemort was truly back? He—"

"How else, indeed." Dumbledore crossed his arms and glared at her. "That, most unfortunately, is the question _we_ now have to answer."

Meli raised a pale, trembling hand. "Please, sir—"

"And why, I wonder, would Fudge have had a Dementor with him?"

She stared at him. "I had _nothing_ to do with that!"

"Headmaster," Snape interposed smoothly, "while I am equally displeased with the direction tonight's events have taken, I do feel it fair to point out that anything our guest could reasonably have done to motivate the Minister to have such _extreme_ protection would surely have been noticeable to us." He raised his eyebrows and gave Meli a condescending look. "And given her genuinely expressed dislike for the Dark Lord, it seems rather illogical for her to _keep to herself_ knowledge that could have helped to solidify his enemies against him from the beginning. She certainly seemed determined enough to save the life of one student; surely she would be similarly determined to save the lives of countless others, if she indeed possessed the knowledge to do so?"

Meli felt real tears spring to her eyes as guilt stabbed through her like a knife. Until she'd crossed over into this looking-glass world, Snape had been like a father to her, and knowing that he was disappointed in her (not to mention that he would never forgive her for this) was one of the worst feelings she had ever experienced. This was not that Snape… but it was impossible not to feel the wound of it.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, oblivious to her reaction, "and now we come to Cedric Diggory." He narrowed his eyes and did not look amused. "And the ducks."

Judging by the look on Snape's face, he didn't consider the ducks worth a thought, but he also didn't seem likely to interrupt again. Meli sighed miserably; she was on her own.

"I never said I would stay away from Diggory," she said. "I promised not to interfere with Moody, and I didn't."

"But I don't recall authorizing you to take matters into your own hands."

Meli crossed her arms. "Headmaster, please permit me a moment of blunt candor. If I had broken any part of my Vow, I would be dead now. Moreover, you yourself can testify that I haven't done _anything_ to hamper Crouch." She narrowed her eyes and let her sarcasm flow richly. "Perhaps I was a little too zealous in my determination to save Diggory—I admit that I did run away when it seemed that I might be prevented, I employed measures of stealth to get into the maze, I Stunned Diggory, and worst of all, I transfigured two kind, harmless creatures into formidable, dangerous _ducks_." She gave him a weary, withering look. "If you ever at any point determine that any of my behavior today caused the Dementor to be present and/or to attack Crouch, I will be perfectly willing to say _mea culpa_ and to take any punishment which you deem appropriate. Otherwise, I would very much like to know why my efforts to save Diggory warrant your so-profound displeasure."

Dumbledore glared at her. "For the simple reason, Neshdiana, that your choosing to work outside of proper channels has shown you to be a loose cannon. Did it _never_ occur to you to come to me?"

"It never occurs to Potter to come to you," Meli retorted without thinking, "but you take it from him easily enough!"

That, of course, went much too far, and if she'd been calmer, she would never have said it. Snape stared at her in horror, and Dumbledore looked like a rocket about to launch.

"It might behoove you to learn from Severus," the headmaster hissed. "Both in matters of subtlety and of functioning as part of a team. Until then, perhaps you won't think me _too _unreasonable for placing you under house arrest?" He flicked his eyes to Snape. "She can still run your errands, Severus—as long as you go with her."

And this time, Meli did feel being stuck with Snape for the punishment it was.

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Hi, everyone—I'm back! The apartment's almost moved into, except for the random crap that really ought to be hung on the walls and a box of drinking glasses that hasn't made it here yet. Oh, well; Dr. Pepper tastes better in the Starbucks mug anyway. And yes, the posting will go back to its more or less regular schedule, on a steady and reckless collision course with THE PLOT BUNNY OF **DOOM**!

Um, yeah—long day at work, and waaaaaay too much caffeine going on… Sorry.  
AE


	20. Tea and Symmetry

**Chapter 20: Tea and Symmetry**  
Dumbledore ordered them out of his office shortly afterward, and Meli found herself once more consigned to miserable silence as she followed the brooding potions master through the corridors.

Miserable silence didn't suit her purposes, though, so after a few minutes of screwing up her courage and trying out a few different wordings in her mind (a novel experience for the lion, but one for which the snake had some respect), she cleared her throat.

"Sir," she said, and waited until Snape paused with an impatient hiss.

"_Yes?_"

"Sir, I know you and I haven't done talking—you said as much yourself." She took a deep breath. "So… unless you have a pressing matter at the moment, I was hoping you might… stop by for tea."

He turned to face her now, his black eyes narrowed in disbelief. "_Tea,_ Neshdiana?"

Meli scrounged up a rueful smile. "I know it's three in the morning, but I prefer an unpleasant talk in the company of Earl Grey whenever possible, and I know this conversation's probably best over with sooner than later." She cleared her throat again. "And while I do apologize in advance that I don't have any brandy to offer alongside of the rest… well, yes, sir. Tea."

Judging by Snape's expression (or lack thereof), he had a sneaking suspicion that she had finally lost it. "In your rooms."

"Yes, sir," she replied. "But I'll be happy to let you cast whatever wards you wish…" She hesitated then added, "And to use a Truth Potion on me, if you choose."

That was a riskier allowance than it had been during their first conversation in the hospital wing. Snape had had a whole month to think up further questions, and the evening's events had probably inspired even more. What he asked her over tea might very well touch on things that she knew but didn't want to divulge just yet.

_One of us has to take the first step of trust,_ she told herself firmly. _And in any case, I owe him this._

Snape's own thoughts were impossible to read, but after a long moment, he gave a taciturn nod. "Very well."

She noticed that he hadn't said anything one way or the other about the Truth Potion, and while it made her a little nervous, she understood perfectly why.

ooo

Kwippy was just as puzzled as Snape had been when Meli summoned her to request tea, but the house elf complied without a murmur and was amply rewarded for her efforts with two of the chocolate biscuits she'd brought (apparently Meli's grounding from biscuits was already over; she cursed her luck but put the rest to good use).

Meli waited until Kwippy was gone before transfiguring the remaining biscuits into a cup, saucer, and teaspoon and then bringing Snape in from the corridor. She, at least, was reasonably sure that Kwippy could keep her mouth shut, but neither she nor Snape were in any mood to put that to the test.

Even after the loss of half a dozen biscuits and the doubling of the party, there was plenty of tea and food to go around. Meli avoided all of the sweets but thought it politic (since this had been her idea) to take two or three cucumber sandwiches. Snape, possibly also thinking in politic terms, took a muffin.

Once they had their tea poured and their plates arranged, there didn't seem to be anything else to do except to stare at each other and wonder how to begin.

The silence got to Meli first—either that, or she was the first to find a way of breaking it. "You were wondering earlier about the Dementor's Kiss," she said, looking him in the eye. "Why I said nothing, why I did nothing to prevent it, why I would lie to Dumbledore about knowing, and why I would try to lie to you."

"You summarize well," Snape replied coldly.

She didn't try to pretend that his words were a compliment. "Before I answer those questions, are there any others I've missed?"

Snape took a sip of tea, his eyes never leaving hers. "Those will do for the moment."

Which, of course, left him with an open door to pursue other options and questions as they went on. Terrific... but not unexpected.

"All right." She took a deep breath. "The last question first, then. As I indicated before, I wanted to give you plausible deniability. What you look on as an insult or a lack of trust has been a way of life for me for the past three years, and it was taught me by my brother and his foster father—two of the truest Slytherins known to man. We were all spies in our different ways, and our activities often brought us together on the same business, but all information was on a strict need-to-know basis—between spies and even with reference to Dumbledore himself, sometimes at great cost to one or more of us."

Snape took another sip of tea, his eyes still locked with hers. "For example?"

Meli blinked, startled by the question. The first example that came readily to mind was a painful one that she preferred not to share, if at all possible. "I'm sorry?"

"Generalities are well and good," Snape said, "but apart from your behavior tonight, which involved, by your own account, a very different Dumbledore from the one you knew, I have no proof that it is as acceptable for you as you claim."

She swallowed. So much for that, then. "When I was still teaching at Hogwarts, Voldemort managed to assassinate Fudge and most of the Ministry's department heads all at once. Only two escaped—the heads of the Aurors and the Department of Mysteries.

"That summer, the new Minister was inaugurated at Hogwarts, which was agreed to be the most secure place for the event. Zarekael and I were in charge of planning the security measures, but Dumbledore had been assured by his spies that Voldemort planned a quiet summer."

She wanted to break eye contact with Snape but couldn't; as much as she didn't want _anyone_ to see her feelings in the matter, he needed to know that she was telling the truth. "It came as a nasty shock, to say the least, when during the reception, both the chief Auror and the Minister of Mysteries were assassinated within bare seconds of one another—and it was even worse when Severus and Zarekael confessed to Dumbledore and me that they _were_ the assassins responsible."

Snape's eyes widened with disbelief, but he was a legilimens, and she had no blocks or deceptions in place around the story she was telling. He had to know she was telling the truth. "They said _nothing_ to Dumbledore?"

Meli shook her head. "Nothing at all—to him or to me."

"And what did Dumbledore _do_?"

She thought he might be torn as to what he disbelieved more—that Dumbledore's counterpart had weathered such a betrayal or that _his_ counterpart had dared to do it.

She smiled mirthlessly as that echoing whisper returned. _Did you consider at all that your actions in this matter lay you open to suspicion of being double-agents? After tonight, I have no way of knowing that your loyalties are truly to me. How am I to know that your only reason for keeping me ignorant was for the purpose of plausible deniability? How much is it worth to you, this genuine reaction that you deemed so necessary?_

"He was very angry," she said through the whispering words, "but I think the worst of it for both Severus and Zarekael was that he was disappointed and had lost much of his trust for them. He said they would have to work very hard to restore his faith in them."

Snape stared at her. "That was all?"

"I can assure you, it was more than enough." Meli shook her head. "Dumbledore was our _friend_, you see. We looked up to him and liked him, and he cared for us, as well. The possible loss of his regard wounded Severus and devastated Zarekael."

"They must have known he would react in such a way," Snape murmured, his eyes turning introspective. "And yet they did it anyway."

"For the sake of giving him plausible deniability and of eliciting a genuine reaction to the assassinations," Meli said. "Yes."

She could tell by the shock in Snape's eyes that he would never have done likewise. If he'd had the unbelievable honor of being respected by an honorable man, he would never have done anything to jeopardize that, no matter what the cost to himself.

He was silent for a long, pondering moment, and when he did speak, his tone was amazed. "I can see why you would have no difficulty defying and even lying to this Dumbledore. You must truly have found the Red Queen in place of the man you knew." His eyes refocused on hers and his voice turned darker. "But that again explains generalities and doesn't account for why, in this specific case, you chose to withhold forewarning."

Meli ventured a bite of cucumber sandwich while still meeting his eye, and after she had washed it down with a sip of tea, she sighed. "I told you that I spoke with the Watcher who brought me here, but I said very little about what was said apart from a discussion of the gateways. The truth is that, since I'm not a true champion, I had some leverage to bargain with him—my efforts to fix his mess in exchange for his meeting several demands." She bit her lip. "One of those demands was that I be given extensive knowledge of the way things are meant to end as well as all the ways it's about to go wrong, along with knowledge of people, places, and events. _That's_ how I knew you weren't part vampire, sir; your movements only confirmed what I already knew."

Snape stared at her. "So even if things had taken a different course in your world, you would still have known about the Dementor's Kiss."

Meli set her jaw. "Yes, sir. But just as I know what's going to happen if things take their original course, I also know that there are certain things that must still be allowed to happen. If I tamper with those, everything following from them will be thrown into chaos, with a result exponentially worse than the originally destined outcome. There _is_ a slight chance of redemption in those cases, but in the case of Crouch, I had no idea how it could be brought about, so I was forced to leave it alone."

"What negative fallout could possibly result from his surviving long enough to testify before the Wizengamot?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, exactly. I do know that this world's Fudge makes the one I knew look like the wisest, most prudent man in the world, which means that he might not have been convinced even if Crouch had testified. I think it possible that he would instead develop his present conspiracy theory further, painting Dumbledore publicly not only as a fool but a manipulative megalomaniac who will stop at nothing to take control of the Ministry. In that case, he might openly seize control of Hogwarts, which would make it all the easier for Voldemort to assume control once he takes over the Ministry." She shrugged. "That's one scenario, and perhaps not the right one, but as you see, I've given it some thought."

Snape was silent a moment. "I do see," he said at last, "and I understand your reasons. Under the circumstances, however, I hope you can appreciate my displeasure with the situation in which we now find ourselves."

Meli sighed. "I'm not thrilled with it myself, in either my behalf or yours. The good news is that most of my personal errand-running is done; the bad news is that there are a handful of things left to do." She offered him a half-smile. "On the bright side, you're in absolutely no danger of suffering the condescension of plausible deniability."

"Are these errands for which I _can_ safely come along?" Snape asked sourly.

"I can't think of any reason why not," Meli replied. "And actually, unless I'm much mistaken, they involve people who wouldn't mind meeting you."

"Indeed." He sounded skeptical, and she didn't blame him. He had never exactly been Mr. Popular at any point in his life.

Meli smiled. "Indeed. I think you'd be surprised." She sobered abruptly. "Of course, that does introduce the matter of names."

He furrowed his brow. "Names?"

"Yes." She poked at one of her remaining sandwiches but didn't pick it up. "In my timeline, until my reported death, I had first and last names, which were known to everyone. After that, I used dozens of aliases, with only a codename and a nickname as constants. Since coming here, I've been more cautious of my name, choosing to follow a practice Zarekael used.

"Each of his people is given four names in addition to their family name. The first is known to everyone, the second to friends, the third to family and the closest of friends, and the fourth only to one's spouse. The more names you know, the more you know about that person.

"Neshdiana is my equivalent of a first name." She paused then shrugged irrelevantly. "I'm told it means 'She of Many Wondrous Epiphanies'." That was a bit of an embellishment; Zarekael had translated it simply as "Epiphany", but the sarcastic teasing had been implicit—enough that she'd thrown an inkwell at him for it.

Snape arched an eyebrow and smirked. "_Really._"

She gave him a look. "It was given me by my _little_ brother—what would you expect?

"My fellow merry brigands, however, call me by my second name, and I would like you to know it, as well."

Ordinarily, this would hardly have been the time or place for it, but as she'd told herself earlier, someone had to take an extraordinary step of trust, and of the two of them, she was the one who really did trust the other.

Snape, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Meli bit her lip. "Well, to begin with, I trust you with it, which points to the deeper and more important reason that I trust _you_, sir."

"And why should you trust me, Neshdiana?" he countered. "If, as you claim, you truly know everything about me—" He broke off suddenly, his eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face.

Meli flushed, sensing somehow that he was thinking of Lily Evans. She took a deep breath. "Permit me to tell you what I know about you, sir." She looked him straight in the eye. "I know that you are not an entirely pleasant man, that you joined the Death Eaters willingly, that your service of the Dark Lord led you to do many things you've since come to regret—and on that I will say no more.

"I also know, however, that you are a man of your word—"

Snape let out a sharp bark of laughter. "A man of my word!" he scoffed.

She raised her eyebrows. "How are you not? You kept your oath to Voldemort until it came into conflict with deeper loyalties, and you have kept your word to Dumbledore even when it pained you to do so."

He gave her a cold little smile, but she saw that he was listening.

"You do have a deep sense of loyalty where people and things you consider important are concerned, and you have never _knowingly_ betrayed a friend." Meli sighed. "I know you might disagree with me there, but I have learnt through sad experience that regrets—even the deepest, most aching regrets that never quite stop bleeding—are not the same things as betrayals."

Snape snorted. "Even assuming you're correct in your beliefs about me"—his black eyes snapped a defiant challenge—"and I make no concession there—what makes you think that my loyalty would extend to you?"

He was sounding her depth, she knew—watching her closely for any signs of doubt or ulterior motives. He probably also wanted to see if her trust in him was more naïve or calculated, more gullible hope or informed risk. She met his gaze without hesitation and offered him a knowing smile.

"It's been my experience that when two people of their word interact with one another, trust begets trust." She tilted her head in a not-quite shrug. "Loyalty often comes of that, but it is, of course, yours to bestow or not, as you choose." She took a deep breath. "You already have _my_ loyalty and trust, sir. Will you accept them, and with them also accept my second name?"

A part of Meli wanted to laugh at her own words. When Zarekael had first asked if she would accept _his_ second name, he'd been so solemn and formal that she had half-thought he was proposing to her. And now she was following a similar pattern—formal, grave, and solemn, as if she was pronouncing some profound stroke of doom.

It wasn't something to treat lightly, though, not with the emphasis she had placed on the importance of names earlier in the conversation, and she saw that Snape at least somewhat understood.

He was silent for a long moment then shook his head. "I'm quite at a loss as to why you offer them to me," he said at last, "but I will accept them."

Meli gave him a sad smile. "My second name is Ailsa… which means 'Alone'."

The Snape she had known as a child would have made a crack about the irony of that being a name to give to friends, but this one sat silent, looking awkward and a little dejected.

She cleared her throat quietly. "You can call me Ailsa any time we're alone or in the company of others who know that name."

Snape nodded, but his eyes were a hundred miles away.

_We have a bit in common, you and I,_ Meli sighed inwardly. _Neither one of us has anywhere else to go, both of us have lost loved ones to this fight, and both of us, though for different reasons, are very much alone in our own ways._

A true-blue Gryffindor might have latched onto that as encouraging news and a chance at later comradeship.

There were times, albeit less frequently of late, when Meli wished that the war had brought out more of the lion and done a better job of quelling the snake.


	21. The Locksmith

**Chapter 21: The Locksmith  
**In spite of everything, including Crim's endorsement, Collum Fell had harbored some doubts about Ailsa Sable. Sure, she seemed sincere, and the things she said (while dosed with Veritaserum on one occasion, according to Crim) made a dark sort of sense, but a part of him still thought and hoped that she was just plain daft. He felt a little guilty, knowing that a bit of it was because he wanted to believe that You-Know-Who was gone for good, but there it was; he'd call a spade a spade and himself a doubter.

All doubt died the minute the _Daily Prophet_ came on 25 June, though. The headline was a jumbled idea, and the story beneath it was even more convoluted and confused, but one thing was clear: Dumbledore was claiming that Voldemort was back, and what supporting details there were confirmed that Ailsa was right.

Even though there wasn't an influx of casualties, St. Mugo's flew into panic mode. Sure, the Ministry was denying everything, but as several administrators (who were in Fudge's pocket) pointed out, war might still be brewing, this time with Dumbledore leading the enemy. All potions and linens were inventoried and stockpiled, various kinds of drills were discussed and scheduled, and all staff were given crash courses on everything from defensive hexes to emergency healing charms. Security on the Closed and Secure Wards doubled, and the staff assigned to them were given further training on top of all the rest.

After three days of the frenzy, Collum was ready to drop, but he somehow managed the fortitude to stay at his post. It helped a little that the initial hysteria was beginning to die down as the Ministry tightened its grip on the _Prophet_ and started turning the gears of the "All Is Well!" propaganda machine. Three days with a lot of bustle and no clear justification for it passed by, and when Collum reported for his shift on the fourth, he had no reason not to expect just more of the same.

As Crim liked to point out, though (and never very kindly), Collum was a magnet for shattered expectations.

Half an hour into his shift, a distraught man about his age brought in a hysterically sobbing girl. He all but carried her into the hospital, more because she was shaking uncontrollably than because she couldn't walk.

Her words, when they were audible, between her sobs were gibberish, having nothing to do with anything said to her. The man, who turned out to be her older brother, saw to all of her paperwork and, assisted by Collum, who had been called for the purpose, carried her to an examination room.

"What happened?" Collum asked as he laid the girl down on a gurney.

The man looked back at him with hollow eyes. "I—" He choked and looked away.

"It fell 'mid dreams of an unholy night upon me with the touch of Hell."

The girl's whisper ran a cold thrill down Collum's spine, and he turned to find her staring at—no, _through_—him.

"The rain came down upon my head unsheltered," she continued, the words punctuated by wracking sobs, "and the heavy wind rendered me mad and deaf and blind."

Collum stared at her for a long, horrified moment before he recalled himself and drew his wand. Now that the girl was lying down, he could see that the shaking was more like uncontrolled twitches and spasms, and her eyes were almost completely dilated… but she didn't try to shelter them from the light. He had read one case study concerning someone with similar symptoms, and he hoped very much that something else was wrong with her.

Crim would have been tactful and compassionate enough in this case not to point out that hope and expectation were often the same thing were Collum was concerned.

He completed the diagnostic charm and fell to his knees. "Mother of God."

"She's a Muggle," the brother whispered. "And I'm a Muggle-born Slytherin. They—they did it as a warning."

Collum tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. Something cold and sharp crawled on spindly legs through his stomach, and he thought he might cry. "How old is she?"

"Almost fifteen."

The girl was whispering again. "Some power or spell had bound me. 'Twas the chilly wind come o'er me in the night, and left behind its image on my spirit."

"Can you do anything for her?" Each word shed its own tears.

Collum took a deep breath and forced himself to meet the other man's eyes. "I can… treat her physical symptoms," he said, with difficulty. "The pain, the neurological damage… but there's nothing we can do for her mind. She may… in time… come back to herself, but—I'm sorry, sir. Those cases are… very rare."

The brother broke down completely then, and Collum was hard-pressed not to do the same. All doubt of Ailsa's warning was banished, but he could have done without this blow that brought his final proof.

An innocent fourteen year-old Muggle girl, tortured until her mind broke, and for what? To deliver some nebulous warning to a man whose only apparent offense was his birth.

He managed to climb to his feet, but he stopped short in searching for her paperwork; she was looking through him again.

"I mourn not that the desolate are happier, sweet, than I," she said, her voice the clearest it had yet been, "but that _you_ sorrow for _my_ fate, who am a passer by."

All of her symptoms said that she was driven mad past the point of recovery, but Collum had the eerie feeling that she was just lucid enough to be speaking her mind.

ooo

"Her name is Epée Pierce; the brother's Dirk." Collum looked up from his snifter to meet Crim's eye. "I did some poking about, and it turns out he was in our year at Hogwarts."

Crim nodded. "I remember him. His first month in Slytherin, most of the others called him Mudblood or nothing at all—he didn't rate a proper name, they thought. I've no idea how he made it into the House, unless it's rumor rather than fact that Muggle-borns aren't allowed."

Collum arched an eyebrow. "And what happened after that first month?"

She shrugged casually and poured them each another generous portion of brandy. "Seems he somehow learned a few handy hexes to keep the ringleaders at bay."

"Funny you never mentioned him before."

"What's to mention?" Crim countered, narrowing her eyes. "My business dealings as a student are hardly appropriate topics for casual conversation. He needed an edge, I wanted to see the inbreeders put in their place, we both got what we wanted—end of story. If he and I had been proper friends, I'd have mentioned him, but as it is, we knew _of_ one another and maintained a mutually respectful distance."

"Ah. I see."

She sighed. "All right, so someone came by the house and held his sister under the Cruciatus until she broke, and based on his observations, the attackers were Death Eaters. We already knew You-Know-Who is back."

"But now _he's_ convinced," Collum said, "and he understandably has an interest in actively fighting You-Know-Who." He paused, but she knew him too well to assume he'd finished. "Dirk Pierce is a curse-breaker."

Crim drew in a deep breath between her teeth, and a plotting sheen came to her eyes. "_That's_ almost too good to be true."

"I've checked him out every way I know how," Collum said. "It all washes clean." He sighed. "Look, I know you'll call me a gutless soft-heart fro it, but even if he was a Muggle janitor, I'd want to bring him in somehow. I _want_ to give him a shot at the scum who did this to his sister."

She raised her eyebrows. "Gutless and soft?" She snorted. "Hardly. You're forgetting that I placed the weapons of justice in his hands myself sixteen years ago. And that was only when _his_ comfort and safety were at risk. Now they bring his sister into it?"

"So I'm not out of line, then."

Crim smiled mirthlessly. "Welsh on our father's side and Scottish on our mother's… Loyalty to family and clan runs strong, and so does the burning desire to defend them to the death. Of course I don't think you're out of line." She lifted her snifter. "To fire and sword."

Collum smiled grimly and raised his own glass. "Fire and sword."

ooo

Five days after Voldemort's return, the last of the Aurors and reporters were finally slinking away from Hogwarts, leaving everyone to take a stab at returning to normal life. Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang were twice as cozy as before, Harry Potter was mopey and moody over that as well as everything else, and Snape to all appearances still hated everyone and everything. On the surface, at least, it looked like the worst might be over.

So naturally the Department of Mysteries waited until then to express an interest in recent events.

To the Department's credit, they were much more low-key and tactful about it; where Magical Law Enforcement had flooded the grounds with Aurors, the Department of Mysteries sent only one Unspeakabe. But Dumbledore did not appear comforted by that fact, especially when the Unspeakable asked to speak to all of the right (and therefore the very wrong) people.

"Do you mind my asking _why_ you wish to interview these individuals?" Dumbledore asked.

Crimson Fell raised her eyebrows but was not put off. "As I understand it, Headmaster, they're the people most likely to have helpful information."

He set his jaw. "Professor Moody is too ill to see anyone, and Harry Potter is still suffering the emotional effects of his trauma."

"And Professors Snape and McGonagall?"

Dumbledore was a wonderful occlumence, but she saw loud and clear that he wanted to tell her to go straight to Hell. Fortunately, he knew as well as she did that that would be a bad idea, and he also knew how and when to choose his battles. "I believe you'll find them in their offices," he said through his teeth.

ooo

McGonagall was irritable and not overly helpful, either to Crim's cause or to that of her superiors. It wasn't all that surprising, though; the poor woman had probably been grilled like a well-done steak by Fudge's lackeys, _and_ she had unfavorable memories of Crim as a student.

It was a good thing, really, that Crim hadn't come to Hogwarts primarily on work-related business, or she might have considered the trip a potential failure.

Professor Snape was also officially unhelpful, but his mood made a subtle change when Crim wove an oblique reference to someone she knew having had an epiphany a few days previous.

"I was under the impression, Miss Fell, that Epiphany is in January, not June," he said, but his eyes were glittering.

Crim shrugged. "The holiday, sure, but not necessarily the event. One particularly interesting epiphany came to me in late May, for instance. It need not happen _only_ on the day appointed by Rome, you know."

And there, in the eyes of her former Head of House, she read both comprehension and approval. He pulled his want and silent-cast an array of secrecy wards.

"Well done, Miss Fell," he said, returning his wand to his pocket. "I knew she was recruiting others to her cause, but it eases some of my worry to know that you're among them."

"High praise, indeed, sir," Crim replied. "I can only hope to live up to it."

"Am I to assume that you have some message for her?"

Crim smiled thinly. It had taken her a few hours to settle on a good coded wording; after all, she had no way of knowing how much Snape knew about the coalition's plans. "If you would be so kind as to tell her that I think we've found the locksmith she was looking for, I should be much obliged to you. Ah—and that she should tune in, same bat-time, same bat-channel to see the rest of the episode."

Snape stared at her, but that was unavoidable, really. If he thought _this_ sounded loony, he ought to have heard the ones she'd rejected.

"The locksmith," he repeated. "And _Batman_."

She nodded solemnly. "Well, if Potter's right, we _are_ entering a dark night."

He got the pun, but he didn't appreciate it. The glower he turned on her could have lightning-blasted a mighty oak to smithereens at fifty feet. "I can see why the two of you get on _so_ very well."

"Yes, well." She cleared her throat. "I won't take up your valuable time any longer. Thank you for your kind assistance."

It really was too bad that Snape didn't know how to laugh well, she thought as she left the dungeons. He was clever enough to understand humor, but he didn't appear to have a clue what to do with it.

ooo

Snape relayed Crim's messages when Meli came in later that day to help him inventory his stores, which the O.W.L.s Potions Practicals had left in complete disarray. She stared at him, trying to wrap her head around both the words and the fact that Crim had been at Hogwarts mere hours before.

"You can make some sense of it, I hope?" Snape said darkly.

Meli nodded slowly. "I think so." It sounded, anyway, as if Crim had a possible line on a curse-breaker. And as for the rest of it… "They've called a meeting."

Snape crossed his arms and looked like he'd just bit into a lemon. "Oh, splendid."

She gave him a mild look. "It's on Saturday—the perfect day for running errands, particularly after your stores have been ransacked by a bunch of enterprising skulls full of mush."

He stared at her, and she couldn't help but grin. _This_ Snape had never used that term in front of her, but his counterpart had done—often, and with a vengeance. "Skulls full of mush, Neshdiana?"

"You can't tell me you disagree, sir."

One corner of his mouth quirked, but when he spoke, it wasn't a direct reply. "We'll need to come back with actual product—"

"Naturally. And I need to go by Pulcheria's to drop off some of my own." She had put her hours hiding out in the Forbidden Forest the night of the Third Task to good use. "We'll make a day-trip of it." She sobered abruptly. "Of course… since you'll be going to the meeting, I suppose I'd better let you in on the secret of the locksmith."

It was just as well that the storeroom was secrecy-warded to Hell and gone; a simple _Muffliato_ would not have done the trick.

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** While I wish I could have come up with Epée's truly wonderful creepifying words, I must alas give due credit to Edgar Allen Poe for penning them originally. Her first two quotes are from "Tamerlane", the third comes from "Dreams", and the last is from "To—".  
AE


	22. Many Meetings

**Chapter 22: Many Meetings**  
Snape was more or less calmed down by the time he and Meli set out two days later, but he was still not thrilled with what he'd been pulled into. In his view, it was all a stupid stunt, worthy of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff but beneath the sly dignity of Slytherin. He did allow that, if they were successful, it would be one of the most brilliant operations of all time, but as soon as the dragon-bait idea came up, he all but despaired for the future of Western Wizarding civilization. It hadn't done much to mollify him when Meli told him that that plan was currently out of favor except as a last resort.

"You have to concede, at least, that if _we_ don't do this, it's up to Potter and his two plucky sidekicks," Meli had finally spouted in frustration.

"The ultimate Catch-Twenty-Two," Snape had drawled moodily. "God help us all."

It had not improved from there.

The almost complete silence that had been their unspoken truce afterward hurt Meli more than Snape, but she wasn't about to risk making things worse by breaking it first. Snape's temper cooled best when left alone.

They entered the Forbidden Forest about three hours before the appointed meeting time and made slow but steady progress toward the outer perimeter of Hogwarts' anti-apparition wards. Meli collected anything that caught her eye along the way, but most of their replenishment would be done in London, so she didn't waste much time at it. Neither one spoke until it was time to Apparate.

"Half a moment," Meli said then, and before Snape could react at all, she already had her wand turned on herself. By the time he'd come around to face her, it was Bella Harmon looking back at him.

"An interesting little trick," he said coolly. "You show this face to people you trust with your second name?"

"No." Meli put her wand away and looked sidewise at him. "They see a different face that looks almost, but not quite, like me, and at least two of them are aware that I use a _glamourie_." She suspected more than knew for sure that Andrea and Crim had figured it out, but since it was the sort of thing either of them would have done in her place, it seemed like a logical conclusion. "Alterations made to my appearance have been more for the benefit of witnesses than of friends, although they've indirectly benefited you."

"Plausible deniability?" he sneered.

"No." She raised her eyebrows. "Preventing you from being tied in with someone who provides, shall we say, items not entirely of a Light nature to a non-Diagon dealer. And before you ask, I use a _very_ different _glamourie_ when I run _your_ errands on Diagon—again, for your protection with reference to Dumbledore and Voldemort. I leave it to your own discretion whether you choose to mask your appearance for any or all of this adventure."

If they had been on better terms, Snape might have indulged in another awkward moment, but as it was, he glared at her and drew his wand. "If Pulcheria's is as proper-appearing as you say, there's no harm in a known potions master visiting it."

"Fair enough." Meli told him the cross-streets for their destination and promptly Disapparated.

ooo

Snape appeared in the alley bare seconds after she did, and no sooner did she see him than she set off without a word. She was over her mild curiosity about whether Tinúviel and Snape would recognize or remember each other; based on Avallach's information, the two hadn't been friends and might not even have known one another at school.

And beyond that, of course, there was also the fact that at the moment, Severus Snape could jump off of Tower Bridge for all she cared.

She led the way to Pulcheria's and through the door, Snape glowering along behind her, and only halted again at the counter as Tinúviel looked up.

"Ah, Bella! I was wondering when I'd next see you. Buying or selling to…day…?" She trailed off, and Meli followed her eyes to where they had come to rest—on Snape.

The potions master appeared not to recognize Tinúviel, but the herbs dealer most definitely knew him. _That _was interesting; Meli filed it away and otherwise ignored it altogether.

"Bit of both, actually," she said, as if she hadn't noticed the lapse. "I found some things worthy of your attention, and I'm hoping you have some fresh rose petals on hand."

Tinúviel tore her eyes away from Snape. "Rose petals? You're not thinking of brewing a love potion, surely?"

Meli snorted. "And what would I do with _that_?" she countered. "I've no use for them—nor for what they attract. What I do have need for is some potpourri, and I don't like pillaging other people's gardens for the ingredients."

And the others could think what they wanted; she happened to be telling the truth this time around.

"You don't strike me as the ornamental sort… Bella," Snape commented from behind her as she started to lay out her findings on the counter.

"But I strike you more as the romantic sort, Professor?" She didn't look up when he spoke, but Tinúviel did. Curiouser and curiouser.

He snorted but didn't remark further.

"Professor," Tinúviel ventured. "Professor… Snape, is it?"

He shifted his weight cautiously. "Yes."

"I'm Tinúviel Everett—we were in Slytherin House the same years."

Meli had finished emptying her pockets by then and so had an excuse to look up. Both of the older Slytherins wore admirable neutral masks, though she thought she saw a flicker of something run through Snape's eye.

"Everett… Yes, I remember." The flicker was long gone by the time he nodded gravely. "You studied in a nook down the Charms corridor."

Tinúviel blinked in surprise, and her nod appeared forced. "Yes—I'd forgotten…" She abruptly recalled herself and turned her attention to Meli's business, where it remained for the rest of their visit.

ooo

Part of Meli wanted to ask what had just happened, but that was a question she wouldn't even have ventured with her old mentor. Whatever was going on (if anything was), she suspected that Tinúviel knew more than Snape did, and that still waters ran deep for both of them; even Snape remembered something further than what he'd indicated in front of her.

She and Snape left Pulcheria's with just under an hour left before the meeting time at Rose and Thistle—too early to turn up at the pub but too late to run any other errands. They walked in uncompanionable silence in the general direction of Charing Cross, and Meli had the dark epiphany that this had the potential to be the worst half-hour of her life. Granted, there was some stiff competition, but she'd endured enough horror and terror in her life that their edges were blunted; her worst enemy remaining from her native world was stark, profound misery.

"How long have you known Everett?" Snape asked suddenly.

Meli frowned. "About a month. Why?"

"Did you know her counterpart?"

_I saw her at Death Eater gatherings and heard her voice occasionally at Dark Revels, but we were never _formally_ introduced, no._ Impossible to say that aloud. "I knew _of_ her," she replied. "Her brother was one of those under my protection during the war, but she'd been fifteen years dead by then."

Snape furrowed his brow. "Dead?" He sounded curious more than concerned.

"Her father had advanced Myrddin's Syndrome, but for some reason St. Mungo's wouldn't admit him to the closed ward." Meli cleared her throat. "As I understand it, he went mad and cut her throat, and Azkaban proved more accepting than St. Mungo's." She looked narrowly up at him. "Why do you ask?"

"A minor curiosity only," he said, in a tone that ended the discussion.

ooo

Somehow they got through the next half-hour without Meli either losing her temper or saying something well-meaning and regrettable, and then, pausing only long enough for her to change her _glamourie_, they left London and arrived fashionably early at the Rose and Thistle. Even then they weren't the first to show; Crim was already in The Cosy, wand out and spells flying to set up all of the necessary wards (and a few unnecessary ones) to keep their meeting properly secret.

"Professor!" She paused in her wand-waving to grin a greeting. "This is a pleasant surprise! How are you?"

Snape grunted more than answered and made his way to a chair. Crim turned to Meli and raised her eyebrows.

"He thinks the whole situation involving the locksmith is bloody stupid and a disgrace to the House," Meli translated helpfully.

"Oh, good." Crim shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "David needs a friend." She paused, glanced at Meli, and grinned. "Or a wife."

Meli snorted. "I doubt even a wife could keep him in train," she muttered. "But if we insist on picking the lock, which I do think we should, at least our plan will be better for the healthy debate—provided it _stays_ healthy, of course."

"David will go easy on you. It's Professor Snape who'll keep us honest."

Meli stared at her, wondering what, exactly that was supposed to mean, but something mischievous in Crim's eye told her that she probably didn't want to ask.

"Is Collum here?" she asked instead.

"He's across the way at the Eagle and Child," Crim answered, going back to her ward-casting. "Waiting with the locksmith, in case that gentleman should warrant an invitation."

Meli crossed her arms. "Tell me about him."

"He's the only Muggle-born Slytherin I've ever heard of, which says a great deal about him from the start." Crim's expression turned serious. "He and I were in the same year and roughly the same place in Slytherin's pecking order, though we had little social contact. He preferred to be a loner, and while he didn't mind having allies, he stopped shy of friends." She smiled thinly. "He told the Death Eaters what to go do with themselves, and he had enough clout and knew enough hexes that they left him alone.

"That, of course, was then." Crim finished one last ward then turned to face Meli. "Three days ago, they stopped leaving him alone. His sister's in St. Mungo's now, incapable of speech that doesn't sound worthy of a demented poet, and entirely out of her mind."

Meli swallowed. "Cruciatus?"

Crim nodded. "He seems to think it was a warning, and I'm inclined to agree with him. He also wants to do everything in his power to get the bastards who did this."

"Is he… clear-headed?" He might be a curse-breaker with an axe to grind, but if he wanted vengeance more than justice, he was a disaster waiting to happen, especially on an operation as sensitive as the Gringotts break-in.

"If he weren't, he'd be sitting at home right now," Crim said.

"What's his name?"

Both women jumped; they'd forgotten that Snape was in the room.

Crim turned toward him and away from Meli, which was a very good thing because the answer was "Dirk Pierce."

Meli felt the wind go out of her and had to lean back against the wall. The Cosy disappeared briefly, replaced by fresh, horrific images that had burned themselves into her memory.

_Dirk, turning up in her classroom in Surrey to show her his Dark Mark and tell her to stay out of his way._

Crim, lying dead in a Muggle morgue, covered in blood and with a Dark Mark and Dirk's initials carved crudely into her arm.

Collum transforming from python to man in mid-lunge, murder in his eyes, and then falling, screaming in agony as he bled out from every pore…

And Dirk himself, turning from Collum to Meli… as she leveled her own wand… and replicated his own curse to send him falling to his knees to bleed out next to Collum.

Four best friends had come together from two rival Houses, and in later years had murdered one another. Meli alone of the four was still standing, but after two years, the wounds of those deaths remained fresh, and Dirk's name was all it took to bring it all crashing back.

"Did you know him, Neshdiana?"

It hurt to hear a note in Snape's voice that said he might enjoy seeing this. She hadn't pressed him about Tinúviel, after all, and she could have done; payback had no right coming into it.

"He was a Death Eater," she said, forcing steadiness to her voice as Crim turned back to face her. "He had a particular affinity for the Sangriatus family of deadly curses. I—saw some of his handiwork… during the war."

"He's the one you meant before, then," Crim said. "The one you'd trust only if you had substantial leverage."

Meli took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes."

"Perhaps it would be best, then, to examine him under the influence of Veritaserum," Snape suggested coolly. All sign of malicious enjoyment had faded, replaced by a predatory look that Meli had come to associate with Slytherin's uncompromising will to survive. It was no wonder, really; if Dirk _was_ a Death Eater, admitting him to the coalition would put him in a position to betray Snape to Voldemort.

"It's been done," Crim told him with a firm nod. "Six drops over two hours during tea at Collum's."

Snape was silent as he searched her face for any signs of deception, but finally he nodded. "Very well."

"All the same…" Crim tilted her head. "If you'd like to join the ranks of the disguised, I won't hold it against you; you _are_ rather more well-known than the rest of us."

Snape thought it over a moment but shook his head. "I've been assured that I'm welcome as I am."

Crim glanced at Meli. "I'll vouch for Pierce personally, Ailsa, and if it's leverage you want, it doesn't get any better than what happened to his sister."

Meli nodded slowly. "Yes… Rasa said he joined the Death Eaters to protect his family, and those he murdered were the ones who might have turned him back from his purpose. I do believe it's possible that he'd do anything for Epée—except join those who've already hurt her."

Neither one asked who Rasa was, which was just as well; she didn't feel like trying to spin a good lie just now.

ooo

Kalimac and Andrea arrived a few minutes later, and the former came to an immediate halt when he saw the latest member of the coalition.

"Professor Severus Snape," he breathed, his eyes wide with amazement. He stared for a moment before crossing the room to offer his hand. "I'm David Kalimac—I teach Potions at Ariel Academy. I—Sir, your work on the Golden Eye potion is incredible. It's an honor—" He cleared his throat. "Sorry, I don't normally gush."

Now it was Snape's turn to stare. "I didn't know anyone had read that."

Kalimac offered a sober smile. "I had a cousin with Myrddin's Syndrome. It's something a little closer to home for me. But that doesn't make it any less of an honor to meet you, sir."

Snape was completely gobsmacked, and it was most of another minute before he came out of it enough to shake Kalimac's hand.

"Told you they'd be friends," Crim commented quietly to Meli. "Good for both of 'em, I'd say, though maybe better for Snape." She glanced at her watch. "I'll pop over to get Collum." She hesitated.

"Bring Pierce, as well," Meli said, her voice brittle but even.

Crim watched her in silence a moment then nodded. "What you will, then. Back in a bit."

ooo

The two potions masters were lost in conversation, discussing some highly technical interaction between monkshood and somethinerother that, under certain conditions created during research, led to some other thing, which meant—

Which meant, frankly, that Andrea was happy to tune them out. David was doing most of the talking, but Snape was listening with cautious interest and offered comments here and there—and good for them. She had no problem walking straight past them to Ailsa.

"Where'd Crimson go?"

Ailsa smiled mirthlessly. "Remember the Death Eater curse-breaker?"

Andrea raised her eyebrows. "Yeah."

"We've confirmed that he's not a Death Eater, he has every reason not to _want_ to be one, and we accidentally discovered some leverage over him. Crim's gone to bring him here."

"And this isn't good news?"

Ailsa looked over at her with hollowed-out eyes. "His counterpart brutally murdered two people I cared about," she said softly. "So I hope you'll understand that this isn't a meeting I'm looking forward to."

Andrea swallowed. "I guess I can see that. You think you'll be okay?"

The half-grin Ailsa flashed now was worthy of Han Solo when facing the wrong end of a blaster. "Andrea, I once spent a very unpleasant week and a half keeping you and my brother from assassinating one another. I can do anything I have to, if only because it must be done."

_Now there's something you don't learn about a friend every day._ Andrea crossed her arms and parted with a Han-Solo grin of her own. "I wish I could've met your brother—he sounds like a great guy."

"You almost did. _He_ was meant to come to this world, not me." Ailsa straightened then as the door to The Cosy opened and the Fell twins came in, effectively ending the conversation.

ooo

Crim came into the room and crossed to stand by Meli and Andrea, followed by Collum, who paused just inside the door to wait for the last arrival to enter.

Meli directed all of her energy to keeping a straight face and not shaking, and she had the feeling that under other circumstances, her fearful reaction would have been laughable. Dirk Pierce simply did not look all that terrifying.

If he and Meli had stood back to back, she would have come up two inches taller. He was not muscular, or even wiry, but he was very pale—pale blond hair, milk-pale complexion, pale eyes that might be gray or could be blue. And he was dressed like a golfer, in a pale tan polo shirt, pale tan trousers, and drab-colored comfortable shoes.

He did not look like Death Eater material, to say the very least.

Everything about him, from the look in his eyes to the way he walked, spoke of defeat and grief. He followed Collum around the room as the mediwizard introduced him to each person in turn, ending with Meli.

She saved him the trouble. "Neshdiana Ailsa Sable," she said firmly, extending a hand.

"Dirk Pierce," the pale man replied, shaking her hand with a sad smile. "A pleasure to meet you."

Meli nodded but couldn't answer in kind; making one friendly gesture had taken everything in her already.

Andrea, possibly sensing this, cleared her throat and smiled. "So," she said briskly, "let's get started, shall we?"

ooo

It was a short meeting, really; its only purpose was to introduce the two new members to the group and make sure everyone was up to speed on the quest for the cup. One other order of business did arise, but even that was more or less quickly settled.

"So not to be any worse of a pain than usual," Kalimac said near the end of the meeting, "but I think it might be wise to come up with a better communication system than word of mouth. Obviously, owls aren't reliable enough security-wise, but there has to be some other alternative, especially if we need to fire off a message in a hurry."

"What about messenger coins?" Collum suggested. "Like the ones they used during the Inquisitions?"

"We'd only be able to send short messages, though," Andrea pointed out. "Messenger coins are great if you're saying 'Get out now' or 'Free Guinness at pub', but what if we need more details?"

"We could always work out a verbal code," Crim said dubiously, "but that complicates things further, and simple is by far better."

"Or we could use Patronuses," Meli said quietly. She found herself immediately under Snape's sharp eye, but the others just looked confused.

"What good would a Patronus do?" Kalimac asked.

She cleared her throat. "I knew someone awhile ago who developed a corollary spell to _Expecto Patronum_—one that allows the Patronus to function as a rapid messenger in emergency situations."

That someone was Dumbledore, and he had only passed the trick on to members of the Order. Assuming his counterpart had done something similar and Snape knew about it, she thought she might know just why he was eying her so keenly.

"Do you know the incantation?" Collum asked.

Meli nodded.

It didn't take very long to teach them, and then Crim suggested that everyone produce their Patronuses so the others would be able to recognize them. Snape refused to try, claiming that he was unable to produce one, but the others went, one by one, beginning with Collum.

Kalimac shook his head at the dredlocked wombat that strutted out of Collum's wand. "You and your extreme animal makeovers."

Crim smirked. "Mine was born with its makeover." And to prove her point, she sent a platypus waddling across the table.

Dirk looked a little ashamed of his badger Patronus, but Andrea was clearly proud of her falcon.

Which left Kalimac and Meli.

"You first, _Ailsa_," the American potions master said, smirking.

Meli rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth. "_Expecto Patronum._"

Crim and Kalimac were the only ones who didn't pull back when a larger-than-life cobra shot out of Meli's wand, and Collum moved so fast he nearly tumbled out of his chair. Meli sighed, rolled her eyes, and looked to Kalimac. "Now you."

His smirk broadened to a grin, and Andrea and Crim burst out laughing… as a cocky mongoose sashayed its way across the table towards the still-manifest cobra.

"Right lot of loonies we are," Collum said cheerfully. "We're sure to save the world—if our messengers don't kill each other first."

ooo

Snape was silent throughout the rest of their errands, except when he needed to speak to the herbalists he was buying from. He seemed a bit less hostile, though, and Meli took a probably unreasonable amount of comfort from that; she needed something bright to cling to, even if it was only false hope. The events of the day so far had exhausted her.

They were trekking back through the Forest before he finally spoke to her.

"Kalimac seems like a decent sort."

Meli nodded noncommittally, that stupid mongoose still on her mind.

"He has a good instinct for brewing," Snape went on, looking sidewise at her, "and a brain in his head."

"Yes, sir," Meli replied, because he seemed to expect her to say _something_. "He appeared enthusiastic to discuss potions with another master."

"He… isn't always so enthusiastic?"

Meli turned her head to look fully at Snape and found that he was the most socially awkward she'd seen him yet. "None of the rest of us knows what he's talking about, sir. I think he'll be glad to have you as a friend."

Snape looked so startled at that, she almost wanted to cry. Apparently the concept of friendship was an odd thing to him. "Every one of us will," she added quietly.

He was shocked back into silence, and neither one said another word the whole way back to the castle.


	23. Her Brother's Keeper

**Chapter 23: Her Brother's Keeper  
**After the emotional roller-coaster her last five weeks in this world had been, Meli was actually looking forward to the quiet summer Avallach's information promised. Granted, things were on the move in the larger world, but she couldn't do anything to stop the _Daily Prophet_'s smear campaign against Potter and Dumbledore, any more than she could transfigure Fudge and Umbridge into decent human beings. Nothing major was meant to happen within her sphere of influence for several weeks, and she was quite looking forward to the brief vacation.

Of course, given what had happened the last time she had been promised a quiet summer and looked forward to it—namely, the assassinations of two highly-placed Ministry officials under her very nose—she really ought to have known better. And as it turned out, certain others either hadn't gotten Avallach's memo or, having got it, felt no need whatsoever to abide by it.

Meli's break lasted a little over one week, and it ended in the most bizarre possible way imaginable. She was in her bedroom reading _The Tennant of Wildfell Hall_, when a sudden change in the air pressure told her that somehow, impossibly, she was no longer alone.

She was on her feet, wand drawn, in the space of a heartbeat. The man in front of her looked frantic and distraught, but there was nothing otherwise extraordinary about him—nothing, for instance, that might explain how he'd been able to Apparate through the castle's wards.

"Please," he said, "I'm sorry for bursting in like this. I'm called Taliesin—I'm a Watcher, and I need your help!"

Something hot and not at all pleasant churned through Meli's stomach. "And what makes you think I'd have any interest in helping _you_?"

"You'd be helping someone else," he countered. She heard an edge of panic sliding into his voice. "He's suspended between worlds, and I need to bring him through!"

Meli narrowed her eyes. "Then bring him through. Why do you need me?"

Taliesin hesitated, looking guilty and a little shifty. "He… requires an invitation."

She had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts before becoming a shadow agent; there was only one connection her mind could make, but even a Watcher couldn't possibly be _that_ stupid. "What," she spat, "is he a vampire?"

The sarcasm died with the look Taliesin gave her.

"Bloody hell," she breathed. "Are you _mad_? What makes you think—"

"He's _dying_, Ebony!"

She glared hatefully at him, but she had to relent. A true Slytherin might have let him die, but Taliesin had managed to find her weak belly in the space of a minute and a half. "Fine," she gritted out. "I'll allow him in—to my bedroom only, nowhere else in the castle, and only on the grounds that he doesn't attempt to harm anyone."

Taliesin gave one jerky nod before disappearing; he was back right away, a huge, prone form in his arms. He laid it on the bed as carefully as he could then stepped away as Meli moved in for a closer look.

What she saw froze her blood. It was a vampire, all right—he was unconscious but appeared dead. Paler-than-pallid skin, pulled taut over an angular face with pointed ears, protruding fangs over his lower lip, a Mephistophelean beard, and inky black hair… and chest and abdomen visible because his shirt had been torn open. A deep gash, made by what must have been a wicked blade, tore across his midsection and angled up toward his heart. It still seeped blood—the only new wound in a field of torture scars that Meli recognized all too well.

"Adrikbradwr," she whispered before she could stop herself, then turned on Taliesin, sudden and potent anger flashing in her eyes. _"What have you done to him?!"_ she all but screamed, advancing on the Watcher.

He shook his head, looking ashen and a lot more troubled than Avallach would have been. "I didn't do this to him—I tried to heal him, Meli!" He pointed to the still-running gash. "That was done with a silver knife; even we can't completely heal silver wounds."

Tears were burning lines down her cheeks now. "Why did you bring him?" she demanded, every word wrung by anguish. "You already had me—_why_ couldn't you leave him out of this?"

Taliesin looked as if he wanted to answer, but something (a remembrance of orders, perhaps?) made him close his mouth and shake his head. "I'm sorry," he said, and for what little it was worth, he sounded as if he meant it. His eyes flicked to the vampire on the bed. "He's lost a lot of blood—when he wakes up, he's going to be… hungry."

Meli narrowed her eyes and took one step toward him, fury locking her jaw. "_**Get—out.**__"_

Taliesin gave one more jerky nod, and a heartbeat later, she was alone with her guest.

ooo

A high, keening whine came from behind her, and she turned to see that they weren't entirely alone, after all. A massive hound with fiery eyes and very bad breath sat by the bed, looking mournfully from the vampire to Meli.

Well, at least Taliesin had been thoughtful enough to bring along his champion's familiar, which was more than Meli could say for Avallach. She couldn't remember ever having been so grateful to see a hellhound in her life.

"Well, Amadeus," she sighed, crossing back to the bed, "I suppose the good news is that he's in no danger of dying. The question now is… now what?"

She bunched up one of the sheets to try and stop the last of the bleeding while she had a better look at her patient. She'd known from her first glance at the wound that it was bad, but a closer examination now told her it was much worse. He wasn't going to wake up wanting a light snack; what he needed came closer to a three-course meal.

And unless she wanted to play donor, there was only one person she knew she could go to.

_"Fuck."_ She looked at the hellhound. "Amadeus, stay with him. I'll be right back."

Amadeus raised his head as if he was coming to attention, and Meli left the room, closing the door behind her before she summoned Kwippy.

The house elf appeared immediately, but her cheerful smile slipped when she saw Meli.

"Is Miss Neshdiana all right?"

"I'm fine," Meli replied absently. "Kwippy, I need you to do something for me. Go to Professor Snape and ask him to come here right away." She took a deep breath, knowing that there was going to be hell to pay but also knowing that there really was no other way. "Tell him to bring… the largest flask he has… of blood from a non-magical creature. And Kwippy—"

The house elf nodded, looking frightened.

"Don't tell _anyone_ else about this."

Kwippy's nod this time was stiff, but her eyes showed that she trusted Meli. "Yes, Miss Neshdiana! She popped out of the room.

Meli walked back to the bedroom, noticing suddenly that she was still crying, though the tears had turned cold. Amadeus was still at his sentry post, but he snuffled comfortingly in her direction.

"Oh, Adrikbradwr," she sighed, looking down at the prone man. "What happened to you—and if the Watcher didn't do this, who did?"

There wasn't much time for pondering, though; all too soon, a sharp rapping at the door pulled her back out to the sitting room to let Snape in.

She knew his expressions, even if not the man himself, well enough to see that he had planned on saying something clever when she opened the door. One look at her ashen face silenced him, though, and she was grateful; she didn't think she could handle his snark just now. She stood aside to let him pass and then led him to the bedroom without a word.

Snape's restraint ended when he saw the fanged form on the bed and the hellhound standing guard.

"Why in God's Name is there a vampire in here?" he demanded. "Are you _absolutely_ out of your mind?"

"I don't have time for this," Meli snapped. He had the flask in his hand, so she snatched it and crossed to her patient before Snape could stop her. She unstopped it and put it to the man's lips before enervating him.

Two inhumanly bright blue eyes opened, widened slightly at the sight of her, and then narrowed again at the scent of blood. Meli winced as she helped him drink, hating the very idea of it, and as soon as he was strong enough to feed on his own, she left him to it and returned to stare defiantly at the now-shaking Snape.

"How could you let that _thing_ into the castle?" the potions master hissed. "Did you not consider the risk—"

"He's entirely confined to this room," Meli said through her teeth. "I'm not a fool, Professor—he's confined here, and only on the condition that he does no harm."

"_Why_ is it here?"

Meli bristled, and the Gryffindor lion roared to the forefront. "That _thing_, as you call _him_, is my brother Zarekael!"

Snape crossed his arms and glared at her. "You neglected to mention that your brother is a vampire."

"He wasn't, the last I knew! This was never something he'd have wanted or accepted willingly—something must have gone horribly wrong!" She tried to keep her voice down, to hide as much as possible how upset she was, but she was failing miserably on all counts. "It's been six weeks—I suppose anything could have happened, but I swear to you, the last time I saw him, he was mortal."

Snape appeared unmoved, which only upset her more. He was six inches taller than she, but she took two steps forward and put her hands on her hips, daring him to contradict her. "And while he may have fangs, Professor, he is still my brother, and you _will_ speak respectfully of him in front of me!"

Snape's eyes widened slightly, and he went a little pale. Meli frowned; even with her blood up, she knew she wasn't that scary. She tilted her head back to look up… and found that Zarekael had finished his meal and come to stand behind her. Laid out on the bed, he looked big, but now that he was standing close by, Snape could see for himself that Zarekael was over seven feet tall.

Zarekael laid a hand on Meli's shoulder and gently moved her aside, his eyes fixed wonderingly on Snape. "Father?"

Snape narrowed his eyes and raised his chin. "I think not."

Meli glared at Snape, a sharp pang running through her. Zarekael was experiencing the same disorientation she'd had when she woke in the hospital wing a month and a half earlier, but Snape was much less understanding and empathetic than Poppy had been.

As she had done then, Zarekael put a hand to his forehead while the first avalanche of pieces fell into place… and his other hand moved more slowly to the wound on his abdomen.

After a long, silent moment, his eyes zoomed in on Snape. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "Please… permit me to introduce myself. I am Lord Zarekael Sel Dar Jerrikhan Snape Dracul… lately of Wales."

Both of the others blinked in surprise—Snape at hearing his own name jumbled into the mix, and Meli at hearing the title. She knew that Zarekael had been a lord in his native world, but Lord Dracul was something entirely different; that title was reserved for the third-in-command within the Vlad vampire clan, and when Meli had left her timeline, Raven had held it.

"I can see there've been some changes over the past six weeks," she said, her throat suddenly dry.

"Quite a few, yes," Zarekael replied. "But it has also been over thirty years."

_That_ knocked the wind out of her. "Thirty… years." She looked up at him, nonplused. "Did we _win_?"

After all, their war had been against the Vlads as well as against Voldemort, and Zarekael had to have been Turned sometime—not to mention nearly staked, from the look of his fresh wound.

Zarekael didn't smile—he never smiled—but he did narrow his eyes in an approximation of a smile now. "Perhaps we should all sit down; this may take a little while."

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce to you at last the long-anticipated Plot Bunny of Doom: Zarekael Sel Dar Jerrikhan. Okay, so he doesn't drool—that was an exaggeration—but he _does_ have fangs. And pointy ears, for that matter.

Points of interest, in case anyone might be wondering. Adrikbradwr (AH-drihk-brah-DOOHR) is Zarekael's third name, the one known only to family and close friends. Amadeus is an established "Contented" character in Snarky's and my heads, but the posted story cuts off literally _the_ chapter before he would have been introduced. And for any "Contented" readers who might be interested, the next chapter covers pretty much everything Snarky and I worked out, once upon a time, for what happens to who after the war (minus Meli, of course, since Avallach kidnapped her before she could live out her many wondrous and cool post-war adventures—the jerk).

Ah, and Taliesin is also the intellectual property not of me but of Snarky Sneak, in case anyone was thinking about finding a lawyer and suing my combat boots off.  
AE


	24. The Vampire's Story

**Chapter 24: The Vampire's Story  
**Meli refused on principle to conjure squashy chairs, but she wasn't above levitating two wingbacks in from the sitting room and taking the desk chair for herself. She made a half-hearted offer of tea, but neither of the others seemed very enthusiastic about it, so she left Kwippy in peace.

"I find it rather annoying," Snape said, once everyone was seated, "but Neshdiana and I both appear to be curious about the same thing."

Zarekael raised his eyebrows and glanced at Meli. "Neshdiana?"

She didn't bother trying to look apologetic. "Finding myself as I did in unfamiliar and possibly hostile territory, I took a page out of your book and had care with my name. Neshdiana serves me quite well as a formal name."

He seemed amused but didn't ask further. "Well, _Neshdiana_, you'll be glad to know that we did win. You were there when Potter struck the final blow?"

Memories of pain ran through her bones. "Oh, yes."

"The Dark Lord disintegrated when he died," he continued, "and between the spells flying through the air and the heavy rain, no one saw what became of you. We assumed at the time that you had disintegrated, too."

He paused then to take a deep breath and looked Meli in the eye. "You remember, of course, that Severus and I had been admitted to the Dark Lord's inner circle?"

Meli nodded. Their price of admission had been steep and drenched with blood, but they had also been able to save countless lives, including her own, because of it.

"I don't believe you were ever told our ranks within that circle."

She took a deep breath. "No… but Voldemort"—both men flinched—"did imply that either you or Severus might be something of an heir apparent." That had come during the short but nasty conversation between her and her grandfather the second time she'd been captured. Voldemort hadn't been happy to find her still alive, and she hadn't been overly happy at being found out. Each one had fired a shot across the other's bow, which meant among other things that there hadn't been time for her to look into trivial details like Zarekael's name, rank, and serial number before she escaped, and she hadn't really wanted them, either. Now, however, she found herself curious.

"_I_ was the appointed Heir," Zarekael said softly, "and Severus was my lieutenant. When the Dark Lord died that night, his power and position passed to me."

That was surprising to Meli, but it was too much for Snape. "You _accepted_ a position as his Heir? Did Dumbledore know of this?"

For Meli, it was a familiar question by now, but Zarekael was confused. "Of course. He didn't like all of the implications of it, but he did approve. We had succeeded far and away above his expectations, and it put us in a unique position to arrange the capture of nearly all of the surviving Death Eaters."

"So once he was dead, you ordered their surrender?"

Zarekael furrowed his brow. "I ordered their retreat," he replied. "I had to give every sign of following in the Dark Lord's footsteps, or they would have fled and gone into hiding. So I assumed control of the Death Eaters for a further five weeks—"

"_You set yourself up as a new Dark Lord?!"_ Snape was out of his chair now, pacing agitatedly and staring at Zarekael in utter disbelief mingled with disgust and contempt. "And Dumbledore allowed it!"

Zarekael glanced at Meli, who smiled ruefully. "Our Dumbledore and this one are… very different."

"I don't know how to convince you of it," Zarekael told Snape, "but yes, he did know, and he did allow it. He trusted us—perhaps more than was strictly wise, but his trust was proven well-founded."

Snape kept pacing but didn't comment further, so Zarekael went on. "Morden Vlad came shortly after my assuming control, and because of Severus' blood ties and my being Severus' son, he attempted to claim that he as Dracula, not I as Dark Lord, had the right of command. In vampiric reckoning, he outranked me." He narrowed his eyes. "He did not live long enough to regret his arrogance, and after a very brief power struggle, Raven took the title of Dracula."

Meaning, Meli knew, that Raven had killed, probably spectacularly, her cousin and Morden's son Damon—the only one standing between her and the title.

Even without knowing that detail, Snape was still incredulous. "You killed him!"

Zarekael sighed, looking suddenly very old. "I have killed many people."

"Morden, by all accounts, deserved it," Meli said, feeling that she had to speak in her brother's defense. Zarekael glanced at her but said nothing.

"And I suppose Dumbledore knew all about that, too—and approved of it." Snape was quieter now, if no calmer, and threw himself back into his chair.

Sister and brother raised their eyebrows at him, and after an awkward silence, Zarekael went on.

"Raven and I then, with Severus' indispensible help, planned a massive coordinated attack on the Blackwing Auror Academy and the two remaining Auror training facilities in Britain. These naturally demanded all of our manpower—every single Death Eater and Impaler—and they would surely have been as devastating as planned—"

"If you hadn't tipped off everyone first." Meli grinned. _"Brilliant."_

"Thank you," Zarekael replied dryly. "Everyone was captured, including Raven herself; only Severus and I escaped… and they came for us the following day."

Meli's grin faded. "They arrested you?"

The look he gave her was patient but withering. "Amnesty was never a part of the bargain," he chided. "We were Dark Wizards, Neshdiana, and we committed atrocities. Neither Severus nor I ever had any illusions about what the Ministry would do."

"All the same, I wish I'd been there!"

"To do what?" He raised his eyebrows. "They came into the Great Hall at breakfast, in front of everyone, and there was nothing anyone present could do to prevent it. How would _your_ being there have changed anything?" He narrowed his eyes in mild amusement. "The Aurors did have a rough time of it, though—Severus did _not_ go quietly."

She laughed in spite of herself. A witty man could make the most of a bad situation, but Zarekael's father could destroy entire cities with a well-placed word when he chose it.

"Fortunately, the Ministry were aware of Severus' status as a spy, so with some work on Dumbledore's part, he was freed. They did not know about me, though, so I faced trial."

Meli felt suddenly light-headed. "They didn't send you to Azkaban, surely?"

Zarekael sighed. "Yes, Neshdiana, they sent me to Azkaban. I pleaded guilty to all charges."

"How is it, then, that you're not still rotting there?" Snape asked coldly. Meli glared at him.

"Several people unexpectedly spoke in my behalf," Zarekael replied. "Dumbledore fought tooth and nail, of course, but Harry Potter and Molly Weasley came forward, as well." He looked at Meli. "As did Andrea Underhill and Mrs. Cameron."

The first two names didn't surprise Meli nearly as much as they did Snape, but the last two floored her. Andrea, to her knowledge, and never completely trusted Zarekael, and even beyond that, he'd been adopted and acknowledged by the ruling vampire clan; he was the enemy. And Mrs. Cameron—Zarekael's initiation to the Death Eaters had involved the brutal and barbaric murders of her daughter, son-in-law, and toddler granddaughter. For her to speak up for him, when by rights she should have called for him to be hanged, drawn, and quartered—it was unthinkable.

"Why did Mrs. Cameron…?" She trailed off, shaking her head.

Zarekael's lip quirked. "If _you_ can't comprehend it, Neshdiana, I have no hope of explaining it to you. This grace you talk about is foreign to me." He looked to Snape. "And yes, Mr. Potter was pig-headedly vocal about how I ought to be treated mercifully. It was a little trying at first, but I did appreciate the thought.

"The end result was a sentence of ten years with the possibility of parole after three. I was released conditionally after three years and spent the next seven teaching Potions at Durmstrang."

Meli felt suddenly cold. "You taught at Durmstrang?"

"It cleaned up a great deal after the war," he said. "But just as no one wanted me to teach for them, Durmstrang could induce no one to apply. Dumbledore arranged it, and I will admit, I found some measure of contentment there.

"Raven, meanwhile, had been released because she had a similar understanding to Severus' with the American Ministry. She went into voluntary exile for a time, until she received word that her father had decided to claim the title of Dracula in her absence. She returned then, and after another power struggle"—which Meli interpreted as the deaths of Raven's estranged parents and a few others—"she resumed her rank and duties.

"Most of the survivors from the war and the infighting had no practical leadership experience, so Raven looked to those she trusted." Zarekael looked a tad sheepish. "That's how Severus became the Viscount and I the Lord Dracul."

"Did they Turn you?" Meli couldn't imagine vampirism having been a requirement—for her practical brutality in wartime, Raven was a shockingly gentle mystic who hated what she was. Any time she had to feed on humans, she was a depressive wreck for days afterward, performing insane penances in the hope that, soulless though she might be, God would somehow forgive at least part of her offenses. It was impossible to think that she would even consider forcing an existence like that on someone else, much less someone as close to her as Severus and Zarekael had been.

"No." Zarekael looked grim. "That happened much later. Raven Refused even to consider it. In all other ways, though, we were looked on as Vlads. One would think the Ministry would have taken that into account.

"Near the end of my conditional release, however, they decided to frame me for murder and send me to Azkaban for the rest of my life. I refused to be punished for something I hadn't done, so when they judged that I was guilty, I self-immolated—or so they thought—and used a button-portkey to escape. Since they thought me dead, they wouldn't pursue me… and since Raven also thought I was dead, the vampires very nearly declared war on the British Ministry. She calmed down when I showed myself to her, but it was agreed that I should disappear.

"Andrea arranged for me to be admitted to the American Muggle Witness Protection Program, and I enrolled at a Muggle university for a time. While I was there, several interested parties here worked to clear my name, and I was eventually able to return—but not to the wizards. The only safe place for me was my family."

Meli swallowed. "You went to the vampires."

"Yes." He smirked. "Raven married, you know."

She raised her eyebrows. "Who?"

"A drag-racing smart-aleck named Nicky." The smirk deepened. "You'd like him."

"I imagine so," she said with a smile. "Any little ones yet?"

Zarekael's expression clouded, and a strange light surfaced in his eyes. "Only one," he said softly. "A boy, named Thalion, less than a month old."

Something dark and brooding underlined his words, and Meli had the thought that the baby must somehow have died. "What happened, Zarekael?" she whispered.

He stirred, his eyes flicking to Snape, and the light in them suddenly went out. "Certain elements within the clan liked the way things were going, so much so that they wanted it to last forever." He looked narrowly at Meli. "Turn one, and the other will follow."

The breath froze in her lungs. "No."

"They got to me first," he went on. "On Thalion's Naming Day. When I woke, my soul had already been ripped away from me—I was one of them." The bitterness he laid on the last word made Meli's head ache. "There were six of them—one already dying because my blood had poisoned him. I killed four immediately, sparing their leader only long enough to interrogate him. I knew there must be others involved, and he was kind enough to give me what names he knew before I ended his suffering."

Meli stared at him with dawning horror. Yes, her brother had done horrendous things during the war, but he had never talked about any of them so casually. This was a side of Zarekael that was wholly new to her.

"It was a fairly extensive conspiracy, spanning every level of the clan's power structure, save only the Triumvirate itself. No one lower down knew the names of the highest-ranked, but everyone knew of at least one other." He could have been discussing a game of billiards; his tone was too calm, the words too even for an implied description of torture and murder. "The Vlads' ambassador to the British Ministry—executed with a crossbow bolt that had his Writ of Execution tied to it. Some minor bureaucrat or other, pierced through the heart with slow-dripping holy water. One of the Eldest to survive the war, the last man I found before they found me…" Zarekael's tone and expression darkened. "_Raven_ staked him herself, in my presence."

Meli swallowed. "She was one of the ones—who found you?" She could only imagine how Raven, their gentle baby sister, must have felt when she'd heard what Zarekael was doing… and why.

He nodded. "She and Severus tracked me—too late to save my soul, but with enough time to save a handful of lives, if only temporarily.

"I came back to myself then and realized…" He shook his head. "It would never truly end. They believed that they had stopped me, but I know—someday, it will start again."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "_That_ is why I begged them to execute me."

Meli wanted to surge to her feet in outrage at the idea, but horror froze her in place. "Execute—?" Her eyes flicked involuntarily to the wound in his abdomen and the already stilled heart it pointed to.

"Raven and Severus spent a week trying to dissuade me, to convince me that I wasn't a danger to them—"

"What about Dumbledore?" She knew, from a conversation she'd overheard between Snape and the headmaster, that Dumbledore had some binding authority which prevented Zarekael from committing suicide.

Zarekael caught her drift immediately and shook his head. "This wasn't suicide, Neshdiana; it was justice. Even had Dumbledore been alive, I doubt he could have convinced me otherwise."

She swallowed again as her throat tightened. Well, it _had_ been thirty years, hadn't it? It stood to reason that Dumbledore couldn't live forever.

"So this wound was meant to kill you."

Meli jumped, and even Zarekael looked a little startled; they had somehow managed to forget about Snape.

The vampire nodded. "I was Turned less than a fortnight ago, and I was executed today—or I would have been, if not for that bloody Watcher."

"Who executed you?" Meli was surprised at how steadily the words came out. Something in her gut had the answer narrowed down to one of two; this was something they would have kept in the family as much as possible.

If she was honest with herself, though, there really was only one possibility. Raven could be dispassionate, even enthusiastic, about killing people she didn't like, but it would kill _her_ to hurt, much less take the life of, someone she loved as a brother.

Zarekael was watching her keenly, as if to gauge whether she really wanted to hear it or not. "Severus," he said at last. "At my request."

Tears welled up for no clear reason, and Meli impatiently blinked them away. "He agreed?"

Zarekael's eyes darkened further. "Not lightly." He met her gaze, as if to shut Snape out of the conversation entirely. "He… took poison… so that he would not have to outlive his son."

There was no blinking away the tears this time. Severus Snape, her friend, mentor, and teacher, the closest person she'd had to a father… was dead.

_Please,_ she begged silently, _let this Snape not say a word. He's not the man I knew and loved, and he never can be. _My friend_ Professor Snape is truly dead, and he died despairing and alone. This man—he can have no idea…._

Snape, fortunately, remained silent, either because he realized that it was appropriate or because he could think of nothing to say.

Zarekael also kept his thoughts to himself, at least until she'd more or less stopped crying, and when he did speak, it was on a slightly different subject.

"I do at least have the consolation, such as it is, that neither the conspirators' actions nor my own afterward have jeopardized my soul after all," he said softly, his eyes turning inward.

Meli stared at him. "Zarekael, they _Turned_ you—how can you say—"

"I was damned already." There was no emotion behind the words. "Taliesin told me that the Watchers only choose champions whose souls are forfeit already… and I was a champion long before they Turned me."

The shock melted into anger, and this time Meli did make it to her feet. Some small part of her was pleased to note that with Zarekael still seated, she actually came close to towering over him. "Codswallop and bullshit!" she spat, hands firmly on her hips and eyes blazing. "Maybe Taliesin has better delivery than Avallach does, but they're both bloody liars! Your soul's no more forfeit than mine is, Zarekael, and I'll—"

"Neshdiana." The name came out flat, completely devoid of the teasing tone that usually accompanied it, and that alone was enough to stoke the fire further.

"_No_, Zarekael!" She took another step toward him and came an inch closer to properly towering. "I'm not backing down on this! That Watchers have taken quite enough already—they mucked up our worlds, they took away our lives and in your case, your death, too. I'm not going to let them rob you of your soul on top of it. It's a bloody lie, and they're fucking _liars_!"

She was crying _again_, damn it—hot, angry tears burning trails down her cheeks. Poor Snape—he probably thought she was unbalanced after all. And Zarekael probably hadn't seen so much waterworks out of her in the entire three years he'd known her. Raven was the weeper in the family—Raven was the one who justly had the most to cry about—and now Meli, who'd had a comparatively good life, was sobbing out enough water to flood the Sahara Desert.

Those bloody, wretched Watchers.

"No one is beyond the reach of grace," she whispered viciously.

The tears had broken through to him, but she could see that he remained unconvinced. "You don't know even the half of what I did in my own world, Neshdiana," he said sadly. "And I hope for your sake that you never shall."

There was no argument against those words and no way to stand in the face of them; she collapsed back onto her chair like a dropped marionette. No, she didn't know; her only source of information was Zarekael himself, and he'd never exactly published and publicized his tell-all memoirs. There were glimpses from time to time, flickers of a cold, merciless killer that towards the end of the war had been more frequent and pronounced….

But no one was beyond the reach of redemption—

_Except Voldemort._

That thought came unbidden and with more conviction than she liked.

_We've already been through this,_ she snapped back.

_Then why hasn't anything changed?_

The silence in the room was becoming oppressive, and her train of thought wasn't helping. She cleared her throat, crossed her arms, and temporarily retreated from the battlefield.

"All right, then," she said, her voice shaking a little too much for her liking. "Let's leave off that argument for now, since it's clear we're going nowhere. What are we going to do in the meantime?"

ooo

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I apologize for the sporadic posting of late. I actually have a huge chunk of this story written beyond this point, but the problem is that it's _written_, literally, so I have to find time in between sleeping and living at work to type the chapters and then post them. I wish I could say that things will stabilize immediately, but the sad truth is that it is four days until National Novel Writing Month. I hope to get the next three chapters typed out before I suddenly bury myself in a non-fanfic world (which still involves vampires, though--I'll never be able to get away from that aspect) so that I can actually maybe post on a semi-regular schedule in between writing 3300 words a day (yes, I'm insane; you knew that).

excessivelyperky, Meli's emotional ability for coping is one of the more interesting things about her, particularly at this juncture. Don't worry, Zarekael will have a bit to say about that soon enough (although you may not much care for what he concludes...). Glad Zarekael's managed to intrigue you thus far, and I'm interested to see what you think of his story.

feuerfliege, I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and that you like Zarekael and Amadeus. Between you and me, they're probably my favorites, although Crim runs a close second. The characters are actually harder on Harry than Snarky and I are, although we're obviously not over-fond of him. A big part of Meli and Zarekael's issue is that they've come through a war involving him already, and even in our version of it, where he's quite a bit more sympathetic, he was very trying on the patience. There's also a lot of Slytherin vs. Gryffindor antagonism in the backdrop, which affected Harry's treatment of Zarekael in particular, and neither one has forgiven him for his association with Sirius Black, who in "Contented" was not at all sympathetic. So unfortunately, this Harry, whom neither one has met yet, has a lot stacked against him going in. There will be some degree of cooperation between Harry & Co. and the coalition, but most of it will be unbeknownst to Harry--safer that way, and also there's the issue of trying to coordinate with a teenage boy who's been kept out of the loop on at least some critical information up until now. Very good insights; thank you for the feedback!  
AE


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